Two Sides of the Same Coin
by Nightsfury
Summary: Love hurts, metaphorically and literally. That lesson is one every Crow learns early. But there is another side to that particular sovereign. And sometimes you learn it in the last place you expected. Goes AU in places. m/m
1. Chapter 1

**Two Sides of the Same Coin**

_A/N: While this story will contain other characters from the DragonAge:Origins, the focus will be on the relationship between Zevran and the city elf. It roughly follows the game story line but there will be some AU deviations. Partly in the interest of streamlining the tale I wanted to tell and partly because I wanted to explore some ideas I had about the world Bioware has created._

_The story is told in first person, alternating between Zevran and Darrian (my city elf). The events each describes occur roughly at the same time.  
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_Since my tale follows the game, there are spoilers. Hope you enjoy!

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**Zevran Araini**

I watched as the human merchant's blood soaked into the fine silk carpet of his bedroom. Ruthless and ambitious, he had strayed a little too far into a rival smuggler's territory. Unfortunately for the merchant, his rival had hired the Crows before he did.

It had been so easy to seduce him, to convince him that I was nothing more than an expensive male prostitute with a taste for fine jewels and human men. But when did humans ever look past the surface of an elf?

The joy of the kill was a cold hard knot in the base of my belly. Not even satisfaction. The merchant's guard had lied to Taliesan. Rinna had not betrayed us. His master had never known of the seduction plot I had devised with Taliesan and Rinna to get past the multitude of guards with which the merchant surrounded himself. If he had, he never would have accepted me so easily into his bed.

The stones I had placed around my heart when I watched Taliesan slit Rinna's throat for betraying us threatened to crack.

I tossed the blood streaked dagger onto the bed. It had belonged to the merchant who'd slept with it under his pillow. Foolish man. I pulled on my clothes and before I left I took the earring he wore in his left ear, a small perfect ruby the color of blood set in deep yellow gold wrought in the shape of overlapping palm leaves and slipped it into my pocket.

I slid out the window and dropped into the merchant's fine rose garden. The wall at the opposite end of the garden was only fifty feet away. I found the knotted black rope Taliesan had dropped down the side after disposing of the guard who patrolled this walled section of the estate.

"Good hunting?" he whispered, his face pale in the moonlight, as I came over the top of the wall. I undid the rope and dropped lightly down next to him then coiled the rope up and slung it over my shoulder.

I smiled. After a lifetime of practice it was easy. I threw on the long black cloak he tossed me and followed him into the shadows through twisting alleys stinking of piss and sometimes of blood. I thought about Rinna and the stone around my heart cracked. The masters would want to know what had happened to her. And her death deserved the truth of it to be spoken. When we paused at the entrance to a wider street, I stepped close to Taliesan's ear.

"We need to tell the masters about Rinna…and that she didn't betray us," I whispered.

He whirled on me. "Are you mad, elf? Do you want to lose your life a piece at a time? I prefer to keep my limbs intact and not watch as Master Jepheth carves them away inch by inch."

"We can't hide her death. The masters will demand to know why she isn't with us."

Taliesan frowned. "We'll just tell them she died in the attempt and we dumped her body into the harbor." His teeth flashed in the moonlight. "Which is the truth. So we won't even be lying."

I was too tired to argue and the masters sometimes punished for no other reason than that they felt like it. So I nodded and followed after him.

Taliesan made the report to Master Jepheth, a small thin human who had a reputation for creative ways of killing. Myself, I preferred the quick clean cut of a blade.

The master stood with his back to us, gazing out his broad sitting room window that overlooked Antiva City harbor. He had a fine apartment at the top of a building owned by the Crows. The gold threads in his black silk jacket glittered in the lamplight. When Taliesan finished his report, Master Jepheth turned and tossed him a fat purse then an even fatter one to me. We bowed and turned to leave.

"Stay a moment, Zevran," Master Jepheth said. Taliesan threw me a quick guarded look then glided out of the room.

"Ah, such a fine piece of work this night. You should be proud. Yes, very proud," he said with a chuckle. The skin crawled along my spine. Master Jepheth's voice was deep and he wielded it with the same skill as he wielded his blades. He was best at the subtle mockery that had just permeated every word.

He came closer and I lowered my gaze from caution, not in respect and not from fear. I wasn't yet ready to challenge a master.

Closer still he came, till he stood a hands-breadth from my ear.

"Such skill in seduction. Such craft. It seems your boasting in that may be justified." I felt his hot breath on my neck. "Did you think I didn't know about that little incident with Rinna?" My heart contracted. He pulled back and I dared to glance up.

"Who do you think bribed one of our informants to tell Taliesan?" He smiled, sharper than the edge of a killing blade. "The Crows knew all along. Rinna is easily replaced. She outlived her usefulness. And someday, Araini, so will you."

I kept enough mind to bow and not sprint from his presence. But his laughter followed me all the way down the stairs and out into the street.

My heart pounded. I wanted to throw the purse into the harbor.

I don't remember making my way home to my small apartment over an alehouse near the docks. Only standing outside Master Jepheth's building then closing my door behind me and leaning against it, my heart still pounding and the stones I'd placed around it crumbling into dust.

**Darrian Tabris**

I had resolved not to look back when I left the Alienage where my father's people were forced to live. But I couldn't help the backward glance and my step slowed. Duncan paused.

"Come, we have a long journey ahead of us and we still need to purchase supplies."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak and quickened my pace as I accompanied him into Denerim's main market square.

Humans jostled by us, probably thinking I was his elven servant, brought along to carry purchases. That I still wore the leather armor I'd taken from the castle and walked by his side with my eyes meeting theirs should have made them think otherwise. Most frowned and some shook their heads. A few muttered, but with the noise of bargainers and the snorts and grunts of horses and livestock, I couldn't hear them. Not that I needed to.

I glanced at Duncan when he stopped by a smith's and began inspecting a display of swords arranged on a table. Before we'd left the Alienage I'd handed him back his weapons.

He seemed…different from other humans. But I wasn't sure how far to trust him. He'd helped me in his own way. But whether that was from a sense of justice or because he'd wanted something in return, my pledge to become a Gray Warden, I couldn't say.

He picked up a sword with a plain hilt and sighted down the length of the blade.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, holding it out to me. The smith gasped. I ignored the _shem_ and accepted the weapon. I placed the flat of the blade just below the hilt on my fingers and smiled when it sat there, perfectly balanced.

:"Do you think that's wise, _ser_?" the smith said then gulped. Duncan only smiled and nodded at me.

"The Warden needs a new blade."

The _shem _stared at me, his eyes wide and round in his forge reddened face.

I stepped to the side into a small open area and swung the blade. One of the first lessons my mother had given me was how to tell a good sword. She'd always stressed function over looks.

A nearby market guard frowned and started walking towards us as I put the blade through a testing. Duncan strolled up to him and coming out of a whirling swing I saw the same shocked look on the guard's face I'd seen on the smith's. He stared at me a moment then nodded and returned to his post.

"It's a fine weapon," I'd said when Duncan returned. I glanced at the daggers on an adjacent table. "I was trained to fight with two weapons. If possible…"

"Oh, I think we can make a special deal for a Warden," the smith hastily said, spreading his hands.

The price was more than fair and I walked away with a fine sword and a slotted dagger strapped to my back to keep them out of the way.

"Thank you," I said to Duncan as we left the smith's.

"I can hardly expect you to fight Darkspawn with your bare hands," he said. He glanced around. "We'll speak further on the road about what faces us in the south."

"Where are we going?"

A caged goose honked and jabbed its beak at us as we passed by.

"We'll be heading to Ostagar, an old fortress on the edge of the Korcari Wilds. It was built to contain the Chasind Hordes that would surge up to invade the north from time to time."

I looked down at my worn boots. "Are we going to walk all the way?"

Duncan shook his head. "I've a pair of horses at the public stables."

"I don't know how to ride, _ser._"

He smiled. "Now you can learn. And Duncan will do."

It was so strange being so high up and looking down on the _shem_ for a change. I found it hard not to smile. The small gentle mare Duncan gave me made it easy to learn riding. After about a week, when the soreness left me and my backside hardened, I found that I enjoyed it.

We made faster time than walking and while we rode Duncan told me about the Gray Wardens and their role in defeating the Blight that had threatened our world before. Several times an Archdemon had risen up and led hordes of Darkspawn in a bid to conquer the surface.

"It's been four hundred years since the last Blight," Duncan told me when we stopped for a mid-day meal. "Four hundred years to build up their numbers. And they're gathering in the heart of the Wilds."

"How many are there?"

He tossed me a packet of bread and dried meat and I settled in the shade of an oak tree by the side of the road. The horses grazed nearby, as far as their tethers, tied to a bush, would allow.

"After all this time? Thousands. Perhaps tens of thousands," he said and settled opposite me.

"Do they only show during a Blight?"

He shook his head. "Cells come up from time to time in odd places. Without an Archdemon to lead them, they're small disorganized groups. The Wardens patrol and wipe them out when they find them." He set a flask of water between us. "The horde in the Wilds is the largest we've seen since a Blight. And though we haven't seen the Archdemon, we know it's out there…somewhere."

"So that's why we're heading to Ostagar."

He nodded. "Two more weeks of traveling and we will join up with the King's forces already gathered there. They've already fought several battles…and won."

"But the fight isn't over yet?"

"No," Duncan said and his eyes went dark and brooding. "It's very far from over, my friend."

He didn't talk much of the Darkspawn or the Blight for the rest of the trip south. He spoke about Weisshaupt Fortress, seat of the Gray Wardens, a thousand miles away and taught me something of their history. He spoke of honor and duty and the sacrifices that were often required of Gray Wardens. He spoke of his fellow wardens with affection and I sensed deep bonds between him and them. And he spoke with compassion and conviction and always addressed me with respect.

I wasn't used to being treated with consideration by a human and I distrusted his motives at first. But eventually, in the long evenings when we camped I found myself beginning to tell him things I'd never expected to tell any human, things that even my father and I had seldom talked about. In one of those conversations he told me he had tried to recruit my mother.

"You did?"

Duncan smiled. "Yes, but Valendrian convinced me it would be better for her to stay in the Alienage with her family. Since there was no Blight at the time, I agreed with his wishes." He pulled the kettle off the fire and refilled both our cups. "I was deeply sorry to hear of her death. She had fire and spirit, but a cool head in a crises. Qualities she's seemed to have passed on to her son."

My cheeks flushed a little. I wasn't used to a human paying a compliment. But after more than a week of travel in his company, I knew he meant it.

"I was fifteen when she was killed by a human guard for not showing him what he thought was the proper respect."

"That must have been hard," Duncan said gently.

I stared into the fire, remembering when my father had brought her body back, her clothes soaked in blood. It was the only time I can remember him weeping.

"I wanted to kill that _shem_," I whispered. "If Shianni hadn't tied me down, I would have. Or at least tried to."

A faint smile appeared on his face. "She tied you up?"

"Yes." I could smile about that now. "I was so angry with her at the time. She told me that when I had the sense the Maker gave a fish, she would release me." I gazed down into my cup, thinking of her and the others I'd left behind. "Duncan, what I did back there…killing Vaughn and his friends… the humans aren't going to ignore that."

"I know, but you are a Gray Warden now and your duty lies elsewhere. I can talk to the King about what happened when we get to Ostagar. Beyond that I can promise nothing."

I nodded and drained my cup. He made no promises but he was, at least, being honest with me and that was something I could respect.

"Duncan, may I ask you something?"

His cup paused halfway to his lips. "Yes?"

"Did my mother know you wanted to recruit her?"

He shook his head. "I spoke to Valendrian first of my intention, but since he convinced me otherwise, there seemed no need."

"Did you now she was Dalish?"

His eyes widened slightly. "No, but it makes sense now considering what I'd heard of her."

I watched the flames dance in the stone circle the way the ones from our kitchen fire had danced in her eyes when she told me stories of her home. "She was the apprentice Keeper of her clan. They numbered less than twenty and they roamed the Silent Plains on the southern fringes of the Tevinter Imperium. Then one day a group of mages decided they needed fresh slaves so they attacked. She alone escaped but only because they thought she was dead."

I set my cup aside. "Her mage gifts weren't very strong, but she was skilled enough to hide them from the Templars. I think she missed the magic but she taught me everything else she knew." I looked in his eyes then. "She taught me to worship the elven gods, not the Maker."

"The dwarves don't worship the Maker either, but many of them have been Gray Wardens. The wardens draw their strength from every people and every calling. The Darkspawn make no distinction between the races. Neither do we."

I think I understood now why he had conscripted me. I still wasn't quite sure what being a Warden meant, but it seemed I would find a place with them and that helped ease the ache of loss from leaving my family and kin behind.

We arrived at Ostagar without even meeting a bandit on the road, let alone Darkspawn. We entered the camp about mid-day and left the horses with a guard who led them away to where a large number were already picketed.

Ostagar was far larger than I expected, dominating the side of a steep pine-clad hill. A wide bridge spanning a deep gorge connected it to the King's highway. The bridge was damaged in places, as though a giant had taken random bites out of it. But for the most part, it was intact and still solid. The king's army was camped on the tower side of the bridge.

"You're free to move around the camp, but I ask that you not leave it till after the Joining," Duncan said.

"Joining?"

"A short ceremony that will confirm you as a Gray Warden. I can tell you no more than that."

"Why not?"

He waved a hand. "I can only tell you that the secret is needful. You will understand after the ceremony."

After several weeks in his company, I knew that I wouldn't be able to pry any more information out of him.

"Come, let me introduce you to the king," he said as Cailin, in gilded armor, strode up to us. He smiled broadly, his yellow hair gleaming in the sun.

"Ah, you must be the latest recruit Duncan mentioned in his last letter," he said and laughed. I didn't understand what he found amusing and the laughter irritated me.

"Your majesty, this is Darrian Tabris."

"So good to finally meet you. Where do you hail from?"

I wasn't going to bow to any human king. "From the Alienage in Denerim."

"Oh, and how did you become a Warden?"

I folded my arms. I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "I killed an arl's son who raped my friend."

He blinked. "Oh, I…see. I…"

"I would not have put it quite so bluntly, your majesty," Duncan interjected smoothly. "But there are events in Denerim that you should be made aware of, if you will permit me."

"Of course, Duncan." He grasped the warden's hand. "It's good to have you back." Cailin smiled. "The Gray Wardens fighting beside the king. A tale for the ballads. There'll be glory enough for all." He glanced behind him and sighed. "I should get back before Loghain sends out a search party. We'll talk later, Duncan."

"As you wish, your majesty," Duncan said. He bowed and I followed suit, but only out of respect for Duncan. After Cailin left, Duncan turned to me and I tensed, expecting a reprimand.

"I understand your feelings, but he is the king. More than that, if we are to survive and overcome this Blight, we must work together, all of us. The Darkspawn make no distinction between elf or dwarf or human. Do you understand?"

He wanted me to, that was plain in every word. I searched his face then nodded. He looked relieved and motioned for me to follow him across the bridge.

:"Rest, get a hot meal and then find Alistair, another Warden, when you're done. Please tell him to bring you and the other two recruits to my tent and we'll discuss what's needed for the Joining. I prefer the ceremony take place as soon as possible." He told me the general layout of the camp then left.

. I watched him for a moment then turned my eyes to the steep hills that surrounded the old fort, wondering what the future had in store for me.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who stopped by and took a peek. And to those who added this tale to your alert/favorite lists. Your support is appreciated. At one point in the game, Zevran mentions that he was 'in the neighborhood' when the contract for the wardens came up. This is my take on how he ended up there. Hope you enjoy it._ _Comments/reviews are welcome._

**Zevran Araini**

I did not bid on any contracts that came up after the merchant. Though a number promised fat profits even after the guild received its share, there seemed little point in killing any of the marks. And little point in living. But I couldn't quite bring myself to slit my own throat or down any one of the several dozen poisons so effective at ending a life. Some were even painless.

I hadn't thrown the purse into the harbor and thirty sovereigns were enough to see me through a few months if I were frugal. Frugality also seemed pointless at first, but profligacy even more so. So I settled on the former.

In the time just after Rinna's death I wavered between despair and madness. I felt as hollow as a cracked and empty bottle. Stalking the dark alleys and piss soaked streets that bordered the harbor almost every night, I even bypassed opportunities to cut a purse or relieve some drunken mark of whatever was in their pockets.

Though I tried, I couldn't entirely avoid sleeping. When I slept, I dreamed of Rinna on her knees, pleading for her life, telling me she loved me, that she had always loved me. I dreamed of Taliesan jerking her head back and her blood drenching his dagger as he slit her throat while I spat in her face. I would wake, the sheets tangled around my legs and my heart pounding, the stones I'd placed around it cracking and those shards driving deep.

For a time, I pretended I hadn't loved her. But I hadn't survived the brutal treatment the Crows considered the most effective method of training their assassins by denying truth. If anything, their training made me more aware of the fine line that often existed between truth and lies. And of the importance of seeing what was true and what was deception, even if that hadn't been their intention.

The Crows were masters at teaching one how to cloak the heart in sharp edged shadows, keeping others at bay. How had Rinna slipped past them all and touched something inside me? Had I forgotten those lessons? Or had I never really learned them?

So I brooded and thought of Rinna and how to end this pain that was tearing up my heart no matter how I tried to root it out. Then word came from the lone Crow house in Denerim that things were stirring up between the ruling banns, rumors of unrest between a teryn and his king and therefore the possibility of fat profits.

I applied for permission to go and it was quickly granted. I spent most of what was left of my last purse for passage to Ferelden. It was far from Antiva and I was tired of stalking shadows. I was looking for something. What, I didn't know. Only that I wouldn't find it in Antiva.

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When I first arrived in Denerim I had little coin, so I was forced to stay in the Crow's house which meant sleeping with one eye open and a dagger in each hand and fetching my own meals from the kitchen. Not knowing much of Ferelden or its politics, I passed on the scattering of small contracts that were posted. Within a few days I'd accumulated enough sovereigns from picking pockets to move out of the Crow house and find a 'relatively' safer place to sleep.

I ended up in a cramped room in a filthy inn near the docks. Even the bedbugs had fleas. But it was cheap and the room possessed a stout door and a window too small to easily crawl through. As for the stink of the harbor, at least it didn't smell like the tanneries. Nothing to remind me of home.

I started piling up the stones around my heart again. Practicing with my weapons helped give me something to focus on as I built a tower around my soul. One without windows or doors.

Between brooding and stalking a different set of dank twisting alleys and alehouses, I learned something of my new home. Fereldans were a rough people, outspoken in their politics and without regard that someone might want to stick a dagger in their back for their opinion. They were blunt to the point of rudeness and the women…Ah, the women. They did not hide scented smiles behind fans or drift through the market in a cloud of silks and perfume like the dark eyed beauties of Antiva. They did not hide their strength behind soft words and were as blunt as their men, an oddly refreshing change. More than a few wore armor and carried blades sheathed in well-worn scabbards. I had no doubt they were skilled.

When I needed money I cut a purse or two to buy drinks in exchange for information in what passed for alehouses here. Dank and dark places for the most part, but the ale was surprisingly decent and like Antiva information often flowed freely in the wake of a pitcher and a few coins. Why I collected information I wasn't sure, since I had not bid on any contract. But it gave me something to do besides thinking of creative ways to kill Master Jepheth; most of which involved narrow pointed daggers and some of the more painful and slow acting poisons.

"I tell you, Antivan, there's bad things brewing down south," the first mate of a coastal galleon said and drained his fourth mug. I was still on my first. He was short and stocky and not offended that an elf wanted to share a pitcher with him.

I was just looking for general information this night. Nothing in particular, just whatever I seemed able to pry out of the mark. I've found sailors to be a particularly good source of gossip and rumors for the most part. It's unwise to put complete faith in them but even the most outlandish tales often contain a grain of truth

I signaled the barmaid for another pitcher.

"Hmm, such a pretty face would look even lovelier with a smile," I said as she hurried up to our table.

"Save it for the Pearl, elf. I just serve drinks," she said, not quite slamming the pitcher on the table.

"Ah, you break my heart, my bewitching maiden," I said to her retreating back.

The first mate laughed. "You've got balls, Antivan. You're lucky she didn't dump that pitcher over your head." He leaned closer, pitching his voice low. "Bess don't like elves. Especially ones that try to…you know…" he said with a sly wink and a chuckle.

For a city where every street in the dock district seemed to have its own whorehouse, Fereldans were curiously reluctant to talk openly about sex. As for Bess's attitude, some things were the same everywhere it seemed. But I just shrugged and smiled and poured him another mug.

"So tell me, what exactly is brewing down south?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Bad things. Darkspawn coming up out of the ground."

I cocked my head. "Don't they always? Nothing new in that."

"More than the usual handful this time, it seems. And they're attacking farms. Even villages." He hiccupped. "Banns are sending armies south to join up with the Kings." He finished the mug in one long pull and reached for the pitcher to pour himself another. I downed mine and refilled my mug. I might as well enjoy some of this since I was paying for it.

"Ever seen a Darkspawn, elf?"

"No, but I've heard they're…dark?"

He barked a laugh. "Dark ain't the word for it. Though their blood is black." He shuddered. "Black as sin."

"You've seen one?"

He nodded. "Don't often go inland. But I have a cousin who's like a brother to me and his wife had just had their firstborn about a month ago. So I went for a visit." He stared into his cup. "On my way back to my ship I fell in with some Gray Wardens coming back from a patrol. Good men and Maker's Breath, they could drink." He smiled then it faded as he continued. "Darkspawn came up out of the ground at night while we were camping. Howling and shrieking like demons. The Wardens must have sensed them before they came because just before the bastards showed up one of them Wardens grabbed me up and shoved me behind a boulder. Weren't much left but pieces after the Wardens got done with them." He shuddered. "And everywhere their blood was, the grass was burnt and withered."

After that he didn't tell me anything I hadn't already heard. We finished off the pitcher and I left him with a third then slipped out of the alehouse.

As usual, I dreamed of Rinna that night but this time the blood that gushed from her throat was black as sin.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: As always, comments/reviews are welcome. Enjoy!_

**Darrian Tabris**

I found the mess tent in the center of camp. I received some curious looks from the soldiers in line in front of me, but no one said anything or tried to tell me I didn't belong there. I smelled garlic and onions and fresh bread. My belly rumbled. After three weeks of trail rations and the occasional rabbit or fish anything would be welcome. We'd pushed hard to reach Ostagar, stopping off in a large town about three days from Denerim just long enough for Duncan to drop off a letter that was carried by a fast horse relay.

A woman wearing leather armor and looking dusty and tired strolled up behind me to wait in line.

"You must be the new Warden. Heard Duncan had recruited an elf," the woman said and smiled. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "There's two more new ones wanderin' somewhere around here. Some knight and a scruffy looking fellow from Denerim. Have you met them yet?"

I shook my head. "We just got here today.

"Just beans today, but the mess cooks add lots of garlic and salt. It fills a belly."

By this time we'd reached the serving tables. I picked up a spoon and bowl and a large chunk of black bread. Most soldiers sat on long low benches or on the ground eating. I found a spot under a tree, away from the main press of people. The woman had wandered off somewhere after getting her food; probably to eat with friends.

There were other elves in camp, servants scurrying back and forth, carrying gear or packages or probably delivering messages. None of the ones I saw wore armor or carried a weapon. As I ate I thought of the other two recruits, especially the 'scruffy looking fellow' and how Duncan had come to choose them. Knights were trained for battle and to fight so it made sense that Duncan would seek one of them out. I wondered what Duncan had seen in the other man.

I finished eating and went back for a second bowl. It may have been 'just beans' but it was good. I stacked the empty bowl and spoon in a large wash tub and headed back across camp to where Duncan had told me the Warden tents were.

After three weeks of sleeping on the ground, even the narrow camp cots were comfortable. The tent was empty and I shrugged out of my armor and claimed a bed in the corner. I woke late in the afternoon then went looking for Alistair. One of the guards told me where I could find him, smiling at me and pointing towards the north end of camp. Like the soldiers in the mess line he didn't seem to have much trouble accepting my status. I hoped this Alistair was as easy about it. As another Warden, I assumed we would be spending a lot of time in one another's company.

I heard an angry male voice as I made my way up the cracked steps of an old temple.

"What now, Warden?"

I turned past a broken column. At the end of what must have been a long room at one time. At the far end a tall stocky man dressed in robes glared at another man dressed in mail and carrying a long sword at his hip and a shield strapped across his back. The armored man must be Alistair.

"I'm just delivering a message, ser mage. The Revered Mother has asked to speak with you."

The mage stiffened. "I don't care what her 'reverence' desires. I'm helping the Wardens…by the King's orders, no less." If he was, why would he take offense at a warden delivering a message, even if it was from a member of the Chantry?

Alistair spread his hands. "Should I have had her put it in writing?"

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner." The mage's hands clenched.

"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message. And here I thought we were getting along so well."

"Your glibness does you no credit. Bah, I'll see her if I must," the mage snapped then stalked off, brushing past without looking at me then striding down the steps.

"One thing I love about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said as strolled up to me. Underneath the easy smile and gait I sensed tension. When he stopped, his weight was forward, on the balls of his feet.

"You must be Alistair."

His dark blue eyes narrowed. "You're not another mage, are you?"

It seemed an odd question since I wasn't wearing any robes and while I'd left my armor behind, I was wearing my weapons.

"No. Why?"

"Just want to know what my chances are of being turned into a toad at any given moment."

"Is that something you usually worry about?"

He laughed and shifted his weight back, relaxing. "Only several times a day."

I caught myself smiling. "You are a very strange human."

"You're not the first person to tell me that." He held out his hand. "You must be Duncan's latest recruit."

"Darrian," I said, taking his hand. He smiled warmly and I relaxed. He seemed to have no trouble accepting an elf as a warden.

I glanced back the way the mage had left. "If you don't mind my asking, what was that all about?"

He grimaced. "Well, you see, I used to be a Templar."

"You hunted rogue mages?" Ah, the mage's anger made much more sense now.

"No, Duncan recruited me before I took final vows. But the mages here know where I came from. The Chantry…well, they're always looking to remind mages of their place, aren't they? Of how unwanted they are." His eyes followed the same path mine just had. "And the mage picked right up on that. We're all supposed to work together, but apparently, not everyone got the same speech."

Or they'd decided not to listen to it. The Chantry believed their version of the truth was the only one that mattered and their way the only true path. The Templars were their soldiers and their police force, sworn to defending the world from any magic the Chantry deemed 'inappropriate', and at any cost. I'd only just met Alistair but I suspected he would have made a poor Templar. Perhaps that was one reason Duncan had recruited him.

"Duncan asked me to find you and tell you to gather up the other two recruits and meet him at his tent."

"Have you met them yet?" Alistair asked

I shook my head. "No, I only know that one's a knight and the other is from Denerim."

"Jory and Daveth," he said then motioned towards the stairs. "Let's go collect them, shall we?"

We found Jory first, listening to the prayers of a Chantry priest just outside the ruined temple. Broad shouldered and taller than Alistair, he looked quite capable of dealing a lot of damage with the broadsword strapped to his hip.

We picked up Daveth eying a pretty solider talking to the quartermaster. He winked at her when she turned around. She scowled and headed in the opposite direction. He was indeed, 'scruffy looking.' He also moved like a cat, light and balanced, sure of every step. He watched her a moment then just smiled and shrugged and brought up the rear as we headed for Duncan's tent across the compound.

When we arrived introductions were made and we settled almost at once to business. While I received curious looks from both Jory and Daveth, neither said anything.

"The Revered Mother told me what happened," Duncan said to Alistair. Well, that certainly hadn't taken long and was Duncan smiling?

Alistair shrugged. "What can I say? The way that woman wields guilt; they should put her in the army."

"Ah, she forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan seemed more amused than upset but his words carried a subtle undertone of warning. "We can't afford divisions, Alistair. Now, more than ever, we need to stand together."

"I understand and I…apologize."

Duncan nodded and as quickly as that the incident was over.

"You'll be going into the Wilds to retrieve two things," Duncan said as he turned to us. "Three vials of Darkspawn blood for the Joining ritual and treaties that are stored in a sealed chest in the ruins of a tower that used to belong to the Wardens. There have been a number of sightings fairly close to the camp, so it shouldn't take you long to retrieve the blood." He glanced at Alistair. "Alistair knows where the ruins are and can guide you there."

"The ruins are about three hours walk from the fort," Alistair said. "So with any luck we should be able to get what we need and return the same day."

"Too many promises to the Wardens have been forgotten," Duncan said. "Those treaties give us the legal force we need to call up allies. We need every blade we can find to defeat what's coming. Now, I suggest you all eat then get a good night's rest. You'll be leaving before sunrise tomorrow."

Before getting dinner I wandered by the dog kennels I'd passed on my way to the old temple. I'd seen Mabari trailing after their owners in the city and had always been curious about them.

The kennel master was frowning at one and shaking his head. "I'd hate to lose this one," he murmured to himself then he noticed me. He had a muzzle in his hand. "I could use a hand here if you're willing."

A _shem_ asking for help, not ordering me around was a novel experience. "Ah, I don't know much about dogs, let alone these."

He lifted the muzzle. "His master is dead and he won't let me near him. He's swallowed Darkspawn taint."

I studied the dog. He was large, broad shouldered with a deep chest and short thick brown hair. He kept looking at me, a low whine in his throat.

"Why would he let me near him if he won't let you?"

"Not growling at you, is he?" He stepped forward, holding out the muzzle. "I'd appreciate it if you get this on him. Then I could start treating him, give him a chance."

I glanced back at the dog. "Why not?" I took the muzzle.

The dog backed up at first, then I knelt down and he lowered his head and let me slip the muzzle over his jaws. The kennel master looked relieved.

"You aren't going into the wilds anytime soon, are you?"

"Yes, tomorrow, in fact."

"There's a flower that grows near deadfall found near ponds, white with a deep red center. Plenty of them this time of year. If you could bring me back some, I could make a medicine from it that would improve this poor fellow's chances."

It seemed a reasonable request so I agreed.

"Thank you," the kennel master said and handed me a small linen bag. "Two or three is enough. I appreciate it."

I tucked the bag into my pocket then went to find dinner.

After eating we settled around a small campfire and Jory talked about the Grand Melee he had won. He talked even more about his Helena and their child she was expecting. His eyes glowed when he spoke of her and he kept repeating how he missed her. I understood his longing for his family, but after the fourth or fifth time it started to irritate me. Surely he had to have known that he would be leaving them, so why had he agreed to become a Warden?

"What about you?" Jory asked Daveth.

"Me? I was recruited after cutting Duncan's purse."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised and I hid a smile at the knight's reaction. He clearly hadn't been expecting that answer.

Jory stared at him. "You're a cutpurse?"

Daveth leaned back and sipped his ale, the one serving we were allowed. "And a pick-pocket, thank you very much. But I'm fast with a blade."

Jory shifted on the bench and frowned. "Oh…I guess that makes sense then…that he would recruit you."

"Duncan grabbed my wrist when I cut his purse-strings." Daveth laughed. "I squirmed out of it, but Maker, the man could run for an old bugger. Guard caught me first, but I'm a wanted man in Denerim. Would have been strung up right then if Duncan hadn't recruited me."

"So you only joined to avoid a hangman's noose?" Jory sounded disdainful.

Daveth grinned. "Wouldn't you?"

Jory bounded to his feet. "I would never be in such a…situation. I joined for honor and to bring glory to my family name."

"Honor don't fill a belly and glory might make for pretty songs but it usually means you ended up dead."

Jory flushed then stalked away. Daveth watched him, his eyes clear and sharp in the firelight.

"Not too bright, is he?"

"We're all on the same side, Daveth."

He shrugged then tossed the dregs of his ale into the fire. "I'll watch his back out there when we go hunting Darkspawn tomorrow. Don't think Duncan wants to lose him in his first real fight."

Daveth stretched and put his cup on the ground. "What about you? What's your story?"

I poked the fire with a stick, stirring sparks and remembered the shocked look on Vaughn's face when my blade sank into his flesh. But I wasn't ready to tell this _shem _about that.

"I had to leave the Alienage."

"That covers a world of trouble," he said with a grin then rolled his shoulder. "Don't matter. Was just curious."

I rose and wished him good night then headed for the Warden tents. As I settled in for the night I wondered what Duncan's story was.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Zevran has left Antiva and is now prowling around the docks of Denerim, trying to keep busy and out of the eye of the local Crow Master. Of course, life never goes the way you want it to, does it? A thank you to those who've added this to their list of favorites/alerts and everyone else who's dropped by for a look. Please feel free to comment/review. _

**Zevran Araini**

It was spring in Ferelden, or so the locals assured me. I wondered how they knew since the air still had a bite to it and the rain had come down cold and hard all week. But today…today there was a touch of soft warmth in the pale sunlight that streamed through the clouds and I sat on the piling of an unused dock taking advantage of every stray scrap of it. The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of flowers, so perhaps it really was spring and not just Ferelden's idea of a bad joke about the weather.

My rumor hunting for the last few weeks had been…interesting and had reinforced what that first mate had told me. Apparently, the Darkspawn sightings in the far south of the country were becoming more numerous. The Denerim arl had taken his forces south to meet up with King Cailan's armies camped at the edge of a territory called the Korcari Wilds. As for affairs at the palace, there was the usual assortment of rumors among commoners concerning the shifting of political alliances and intrigue, but nothing you could stick a dagger in.

I was getting restless and to add to my discomfort, Stefan, the master in charge of the local Crow house gave me dark looks every time he saw me, which I tried to ensure happened as little as possible. But I couldn't avoid him entirely as he liked to wander the streets and back alleys, keeping an eye on his underlings. I wasn't surprised at that. I was surprised that he hadn't sent for me yet. If nothing else just to relieve his boredom by harassing someone new.

The sunlight disappeared behind the clouds and a cool wind blew in off the harbor so I decided to head back to my dingy little room in the inn before I ran into him. When I stepped off the dock and onto the street, Master Stefan glided out from a shadowy alcove in the alley and stepped in front of me. He always wore black leather. Combined with his black hair he reminded me of a panther, sleek and dark, but with sharp claws hidden beneath velvet fur. Not very tall for a human, an inch or two below average height, but well muscled and deadly as the dagger that strikes unseen from random comments I'd overheard the short time I'd stayed in the Crow house. He was Antivan, of course, but had only a trace of accent.

"Why are you here?"

The directness of his question caught me off guard for a moment. I stepped back and smiled, "To enjoy this fine Ferelden city, take in the local sights, the usual sorts of things a tourist does, yes?"

He folded his arms. "You're a sharper blade than most, Araini. Now answer the question."

Half a dozen lewd replies hovered on the tip of my tongue. But I had no wish to be sent packing back to my sweet Antiva City, no matter that I missed it. Or worse being locked up in oubliette while the master decided how to punish me for a flippant tongue.

"Truly, Master, I had an itch to travel. New things to see. New throats to slit. I'd heard of opportunities here in Ferelden. Though, if I may be honest, the pickings for the Crows seem sparse."

He snorted. "Sparse and lean. Fereldans seem to prefer to settle their disputes with their own blades rather than hiring a professional to do it for them." He threw me a shrewd look. "I understand you've been prowling the dockside inns and brothels, hunting rumors and gossip."

I wasn't surprised he knew that. I'd spotted his apprentices practicing their spying and since my avoiding them would only draw more attention to me, I'd let them trail me.

"Ah, I'd make a poor spy, Master. I-"

He raised his hand and I fell silent. "Based on the reports on you I've seen I think you'd make a very good spy. Humans do find elves…attractive, don't they?" he said with a chuckle.

The smile froze on my face. I had no inhibitions about using sex as a means to accomplish a mission. But I didn't like the Crows using me that way. Not that I had any choice in the matter.

"What do you wish of me, Master?"

"Nothing that you aren't already doing." He pulled a small purse from his pocket and tossed it to me. It was heavier than it looked. "Find a better class of alehouse to visit. The Gnawed Noble is a good place to start." He nodded at the purse in my hand. "Buy a decent set of clothes, something a wealthy merchant's factor might wear. Make yourself…available if things develop that way on their own. But don't push for it. Ferelden nobles are barely past barbarism but they're not stupid. They'll smell seduction for information a league away."

I slipped the purse into my cloak pocket. "Is there anything…in particular you wish me to collect?"

He shook his head. "Play cards. Drink with them. Talk about the weather. Just listen. And report back to me whatever you find out." He glanced at the castle across the harbor then back at me.

Ah, intrigue in high places is always bracing. I smiled and bowed and when I rose he was already gone.

* * *

I had been a little puzzled as to why Master Stefan wanted me to pose as a merchant's factor. The position of one entrusted with selling another's goods, particularly luxury items, is not usually the type of service an elf is seen in. Scrubbing floors and mucking out stables is more the usual line of work.

But I was Antivan, foreign and exotic to Ferelden sensibilities and, of course, being exquisitely handsome by human standards didn't hurt either. So the patrons at the Gnawed Noble accepted me without much fuss and since my gold was good, the owner didn't seem to care I was an elf. I wish all proprietors had such a civilized and pragmatic attitude.

While more eloquently phrased, the rumors and gossip I first heard were little different from what I'd encountered in the dockside inns and alehouses. But extracting information is a lot like making love. A delicate touch applied in the right place, a soft kiss here and the longer one takes to prepare for the culmination of passion, the more intense it is when it comes. It has also been my experience that the best lovers are sometimes found in the most unexpected places; unlooked for, their passion is often far sweeter than one who has been ardently pursued for weeks or months. Of course, I was trolling for information at the moment, not a bed-partner or two; but the analogy holds, I think.

"So, tell me, what kinds of goods does your master deal in?" Ser Meril, a middle-aged knight I was playing Wicked Grace with at the Gnawed Noble one evening asked me. A small man with dark hair streaked with silver, possessed of the slender wiry strength of a dancer or a fine swordsman.

We sat at a small table in a far corner, sharing a small flask of sweet red wine. Quite a good vintage, too, considering it was Ferelden.

"Precious gems. Fine jewelry. Good wines. That sort of thing. But he's still waiting for shipment from Antiva," I said. I happen to know something about these things. So if he had specific questions about these items I would at least be able to maintain the ruse. And Ignacio, Master Stefan's second, had a wide range of such goods at his booth in the main market square. If necessary, he could pose as the merchant if Ser Meril wished to purchase something.

The knight frowned at his hand. Either the man was very good or very bad at playing. We hadn't been at it long enough for me to decide. Not that I planned on winning too much, but his skill would determine my strategy.

"When is the ship expected to arrive?"

I waved my hand. "Oh, not for several weeks I'm afraid. Assuming pirates don't attack it or a storm doesn't blow it off course or sink it."

Ser Meril sighed and reached for his wine. "Yes, that's the thing I hate about ships. Still, I would appreciate you informing your master of my interest."

I inclined my head. "Of course, Ser Meril. It will be my pleasure."

He grunted and turned back to our game. He said little while we played hand after hand, frowning all the time at his cards while we shared a second flask of wine. He wasn't the best, but he wasn't the worst I'd played against either. Which was a good thing since it's hard to lose against a bad player.

I took his coins for a while and his frown deepened. Then I lost, on purpose of course, and we continued playing till we were both back to our original stack of sovereigns.

He leaned back and signaled the barmaid. Apparently, he was a frequent patron so she already knew what he wanted because she just nodded and disappeared behind the bar.

"If you will allow me, Ser Meril," I said as she came back with another flask and a plate of anise cookies.

He smiled and shook his head then tipped the barmaid a sovereign on top of the price of the wine.

"Thank you, ser knight," she said with a small curtsy then hurried away. His eyes followed her. Mine did too. She was a pretty thing, like a bright songbird.

Ser Meril glanced at me and chuckled. "Look if you like, but she's not like to bed either of us." He leaned closer. "Doesn't swing that way."

"Ah, a lady for the ladies." Then because I couldn't resist. "Perhaps she would let us watch, yes?"

He stared at me and I thought that I had stepped too far for Ferelden sensibilities. But apparently I hadn't since he burst into a deep belly laugh a few seconds later.

"Ah, Antivan, I think I like you." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "And to answer your question, I don't think she would." He poured me another glass of wine. "We'll have to take our pleasure on the wing, I fear. Something Arl Howe never does."

I smiled politely and sipped the wine. "I am not familiar with that name."

Ser Meril snorted. "Haven't been here long, have you?"

"Not very," I said.

"Well, avoid his company if you can. He doesn't like elves." He waved a hand. "Oh, I know that's a common attitude among humans, especially nobles. But he's worst than most." He leaned back and stretched out a leg.

"And what does this Arl Howe look like? So I can avoid him, of course."

He waved his glass. "Tall. Wiry with a narrow pinched face. A nose like a vulture and a voice like a serpent." He didn't seem to be making much of an effort to hide his dislike of the man. Perhaps it was only the wine speaking. Or perhaps something else.

I chose my next words carefully. "Your pardon if I offend, Ser Meril, but you sound like you don't much care for this Arl Howe."

He laughed. "Ah, is it that obvious? I despise him. I despise anyone who cloaks their ambition in patriotism."

"Your candor is…unusual."

"Perhaps, but you'll not find many who like Howe and most don't take pains to hide their dislike."

He took a long sip of wine then set his glass on the table, holding the stem between his thumb and forefinger. Fine crystal, the goblet of the wine glass caught and held the candlelight, seeming to glow from within.

"I'll admit I have been accused of being too blunt in my speech. But I have no interests beyond the affairs of my own lands or in acquiring more wealth. I have enough for my needs. And the greatest is simply to be left alone to tend my own affairs."

He drained the rest of his glass then shared the last of the wine between us.

"May I ask you something?" I asked when he finished pouring. He nodded. "I'm curious as to what you meant when you said that Arl Howe doesn't take his pleasure… on the wing?'

"Hmm, I don't think the man pisses without planning it out first. Where, when and how much." He laughed. "Maker's breath, I've had enough wine. Time for other pleasures, I think."

He threw me a speculative look, one I knew well. I smiled and leaned forward, resting my chin on one hand, the other curled around my wine glass.

"What did you have in mind?"

"How much do you know about…sword play?"

Ah, that maddening indirectness all Fereldans used when it came to sex, though with him I think the choice of words was deliberate.

"Quite a bit, actually. Antiva is much more open to…different styles of play."

He leaned forward. "I'd heard that. It's been a while since I've had a proper…demonstration. I'd be interested in finding out what you know."

"And I, you."

He smiled and the candle flame burned bright between us.

* * *

I've learned to wake at a sound as soft as a silk slipper falling on a carpet. Of course, since elves have better hearing than humans, it wasn't hard. Ser Meril made more noise, closer to a boot dropping onto a carpet.

I stretched and propped myself up on my arms and admired the way the early morning sun limned his body as he lounged by his window. He turned and saw me watching.

"Ah, did I wake you?"

I sat up and let the blanket slide down to my hips, stretched again then leaned back on my arms and flexed my hips.

He laughed. "Antivan, you're shameless."

"Hmmm, you didn't think so last night."

"No, but I was drunk last night." He gave me a crooked smile. "Well, perhaps not so drunk."

He glided back to the bed and settled down, one leg tucked in close and the other firmly on the floor. There was little fat on him and he seemed quite comfortable sitting naked next to me. He'd been more skilled than I had expected and willing to take instruction in some of the finer points of lovemaking, so the night had been quite enjoyable.

"Might I ask you something that's puzzled me for a while?" Ser Meril asked.

I slid my leg up and rubbed my knee against his buttock. "What is that, oh most wondrous of lovers?"

"Hmph, I know my skills, I wasn't that good," he said with a smile.

I leaned forward and kissed him, a light one on the lips and brushed my fingertips across his cheek. "Perhaps I exaggerate a little. But you were quite…considerate. Now, what did you wish to ask of me?"

He touched the curving tattoo on the side of my face, tracing it from my forehead and down the side of my cheek.

"I've always wondered if there was a meaning behind these or if it was just an adornment." He smiled. "One that suits you well, by the way."

"It has no more meaning than any other…adornment one may choose," I said. It wasn't exactly a lie;best to avoid those, too easy to lose track of where one left off. But I've learned to hide in the fine shadows that live between truth and deception quite well.

"Which means much…or none," Ser Meril said then shrugged. "Ah, keep your secret, Antivan. It was only idle curiosity."

He rose and scooped up a fine blue silk robe from the top of a chest and tossed it to me.

"My housekeeper is quite familiar and comfortable with my…habits. But the bloody woman always insists that my guest be dressed for breakfast."

"And the master?" I said, rising and pulling it on.

He chuckled. "Him, too," he said, reaching for a green silk robe hanging on a hook. "We can eat breakfast here on the balcony." He motioned towards the double doors on the far side of his bedroom.

The housekeeper herself brought it. A slender human of more than middle years, traces of beauty still lingered in her. A hint of gold in her graying hair and her step was still light. She smiled at me before setting the tray down then turned to Sir Meril.

"Ser, if I may have a moment of your time?" she murmured. He followed her to his bedroom door

I turned and pretended to study the rose garden below me, but keeping him in sight from the corner of my eye. The housekeeper pulled a small piece of folded paper from her pocket and handed it to the knight then glided away, closing the door gently behind her. Ser Meril turned it over and frowned at the seal then slipped it into a pocket of his robe.

Curiosity tugged me in several directions, but I couldn't ask about the note without betraying that I was more than a casual bedmate. So I sat there and shared breakfast with him and listened to his gossip about court, not a little of which was centered around arl Howe and how everyone disliked him. Nothing that could be used for blackmail, of course, the human was far too clever for that. But it did give me insight into the man and was, at least, entertaining.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Darrian has just spent his first night in Ostagar and is now heading off into the Kocari Wilds. Yes, I've stolen shamelessly from Bioware's dialogue, once again. Why tamper with a good thing?  
_

**Darrian Tabris**

I watched Daveth from the corner of my eye as we headed out the gate and into the Wilds in the gray light of false dawn. I'd seen him practicing last night, in the fading evening light after dinner. He was fast and agile and I understood why Duncan wanted him even if Jory didn't.

As we headed down the narrow trail that twisted away from camp, Jory kept glancing at him and frowning, as if he couldn't quite believe Duncan's choice. Of course, the knight kept looking at me the same way. I wondered what he'd expected to find when he came south to Ostagar to join up with the Gray Wardens. He'd talked last night of the stories and tales he'd heard as a boy, of Wardens riding their griffons into battle and finding glory and honor. After rescuing Shianni and the women Vaughn had abducted, I knew something of killing now, if not war. There was no honor or glory in sliding your sword into another man's flesh. There was only steel and blood and the fervent hope that you wouldn't find your death at the end of a blade.

I pulled away from those thoughts and focused back on the path that followed the rough shape of the land around us. Alistair pulled ahead, his shield ready on his arm. Jory walked beside him, his eyes darting from one side of the shadowed path to the other. He started at every sound and he clutched his sword hilt. Walking beside me, Daveth stepped more lightly but he seemed just as tense as Jory and he kept one hand on a dagger.

I studied the rock strewn terrain as we followed the path towards the ruins where the treaties were hidden. The Wilds were well-named. It was rough land interlaced with narrow streams flowing with ice cold water and small deep pools over-hung with trees. Everywhere there were ruins. And the air smelled so different from the Alienage, clear and crisp and of living things, not the stench of a backed-up sewer or the pungency of too many people living in too small a place. I took a deeper breath of pine scented air and savored it.

Near some dead branches next to a small pond I found a cluster of the flowers the kennel master had asked me to look for.

"Did there used to be a city here?" I asked Alistair as I paused to gather some flowers and put them in the bag then tied it to my belt.

"Not sure, but there's Tevinter ruins all through these wilds." He nodded at a large domed shaped building half-sunk into a small lake as we resumed walking. "I know some of the Chantry scholars have tried investigating them, but they haven't found much. Just broken buildings, mostly."

Jory kept looking nervously around. "What if we run into the horde?"

Daveth rolled his eyes. "Well then, we'll all probably die, ser knight."

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"I can sense the Darkspawn coming. All Gray Wardens can," Alistair said. "We'll have enough warning." He waved a mailed hand at the west. "And the bulk of the horde is in the center of the wilds. We're not heading in that direction."

Jory didn't look very reassured. But the land was fairly open, not much brush between the massive trees. I knew a little of tactics, thanks to my mother. With open land like this, we'd have a better chance of seeing anything coming and we had another advantage. Me. Elves have better hearing than humans.

Alistair stopped, his face intent and he was looking at the ground and pulling out his sword. "They're coming."

We all pulled our weapons and just before they erupted through the earth around us, I heard a rasping buzzing sound that sawed against my nerves.

Four of them, short and squat, came up in a circle around us. An archer appeared a split second later about thirty yards away. I dropped into a rolling dive between two of the squat Darkspawn and sprinted for him, dodging arrows. I heard the clash of steel behind me and since the archer was alone and unarmored I pulled both my blades.

This Darkspawn was tall and bulky, smelling like dead things, rotten meat; his skin the greenish corpse color of something long dead. He snarled when I ran up then dropped his bow. I parried his broad flat blade with my dagger, and aimed a kick at his groin. Take them hard. Take them fast, my mother had taught me. When your life hangs on your blades there's no such thing as a fair fight.

I fell into the dance.

Then when it seemed it had barely begun, it was over. The Darkspawn lay twitching at my feet. Its blood stung where it touched my skin and the grass it touched was already withering and turning black. My stomach contracted from the smell and sight of death and I managed, barely, to keep from throwing up. I turned and saw Alistair plunge his blade into the last one's heart. Daveth stood apart, lowering his bow. The corpses on the ground were riddled with arrows.

I shook my head to clear it and hurried over to find Alistair collecting the seeping blood into long glass vials the width of my thumb. When he was finished, he wrapped them in thick wool cloth and stored them in his small travel pack hanging from his sword belt.

Jory was still trembling, but he'd stood and fought, so perhaps he wasn't as much of a coward as I'd thought.

"We've got the blood, now let's go recover those treaties," Alistair said and we headed north.

The Gray Warden ruins weren't very far from where we'd fought the Darkspawn. Little remained of the tower, a large chamber on the first floor, roofless, the walls half gone and a ramp leading up to what must have been another level. A broken chest sat in a corner , the top staved in. We found nothing inside but dust and ashes.

"Well, this isn't good," Alistair muttered, poking through the debris with his sword.

"What have we here?" a woman's low smoky voice said behind us.

We whirled, steel whispering against leather as we drew weapons.

"Intruders? Or perhaps scavengers come to pick through bones that have turned to dust." She stood at the top of the ramp, a staff slung across her back but she made no move to draw it. How had she gotten there? There was no way she could have crept past us without being seen, no matter how skilled she was. "I've watched you since you entered these wilds. Why are they here I wondered?" Her dark tawny eyes flicked to me and settled there. "What do they seek?"

She glided down the ramp, holding her empty hands out before her. Tall and slender, dressed in black leather and linen, her dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun and a soft fringe framed her eyes. A mage's eyes, deep and glittering. I felt it then, the prickle of magic across the back of my neck. She was powerful.

"Shall I guess? Something in that chest, perhaps?" she said, motioning to it in the corner.

I re-sheathed my weapons and the others followed after a moment. If she had intended harm we'd already be dead.

"Well? Which are you? Scavenger or intruder?"

"Neither, we came looking for…documents that belong to the Gray Wardens," I said.

She shrugged. "That name has no power here. Not anymore."

"She's a witch, she is," Daveth muttered behind me. "She'll turn us all into toads, she will."

"Be quiet, Daveth. If she is, do you want to make her mad?" Jory whispered back

The woman laughed. "Such fancies." Her eyes settled on me. "Tell me, elf, your kind are less inclined to act like frightened children. What do you think?"

"I think you know where our documents are."

She smiled. "Clever man. Let's be civilized shall we. Tell me your name, and I will give you mine."

"My name is Darrian Tabris, and I hail from Denerim." I inclined my head. "A pleasure to meet you." It did no harm to be polite and if she had those treaties, we were more likely to retrieve them or at least find out where they might be if we were friendly.

"Well, that was quite a civilized greeting. I think I like you."

"Watch it," Alistair said. "First, it's …'I like you' then zap…frog time."

The woman rolled her eyes. "My name is Morrigan. And if you wish to retrieve your property then follow me. My mother has them in her keeping."

Alistair frowned. "Your mother?"

Morrigan folded her arms. "Yes, my mother. Did you think I spawned from a log?"

Alistair scowled and Daveth and Jory looked uncertain. I stepped forward.

"If you please, Morrigan, take us there."

She studied me a moment the turned. "Follow me."

She led us down a narrow twisting trail that headed toward the southeast into country that looked, if possible, even wilder than what we'd traveled through this morning. Perhaps half an hour later we ended up at a small neat hut beside a large pond. Her mother waited outside, slender and gray and wrinkled, but it was hard to read her age. For all the years she seemed to carry, she still stood straight and tall.

"Mother, I've brought four Gray Wardens to see you."

The old woman snorted. "Yes, I've been expecting you."

"You have?" Alistair said, sounding surprised. So was I.

"Come to collect your treaties, I assume." She motioned towards her hut. "And before you begin barking, know that the seals on the chest were broken when I found it."

She disappeared into the hut then reappeared a moment later with a sheaf of folded and dusty papers she handed to Alistair. From what I could see the seals were still intact. She'd known what they were and kept them safe. I wondered how long she'd had them in her keeping and why she hadn't come to Ostagar to return them.

"Tell your wardens the threat is greater than they realize," the old woman said.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Do I? Well, it seems I do, now that you ask."

Which answer told me nothing. I wanted to press her, but I had the distinct feeling she would only answer with more of the same ambiguous words she'd just given us. That she would answer any other questions the same way.

Morrigan's mother looked us over and I felt like I was being weighed in a set of scales. Daveth kept fidgeting and fingering the hilt of his dagger. Though it was mid-day, the light seemed muted, so that even Jory's polished armor looked flat and dull.

"Well, you have what you came for, so…farewell," Morrigan said.

"These are your guests, child. Where are your manners?"

Morrigan sighed. The old woman motioned in the direction of Ostagar. "Morrigan will see you safely out of the wilds."

She guided us back a different way and it seemed shorter way than the one we had come. We encountered no Darkspawn during our return and Morrigan disappeared like a shadow when we were within sight of the fort.

Alistair looked back where she had been standing and frowned. "Creepy," was all he said and then we turned and headed into camp.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thanks to Brownc0at for being my Beta. And a thank you to those who put this on their favorite/alert lists and gave a review. Your support is appreciated. To you and everyone else who visits this tale, read and enjoy. Comments/feedback are appreciated._

**Zevran Araini**

Master Stefan preferred to take reports sitting at his desk. I, of course, was standing. I had learned the hard way to keep my reports succinct and to omit my opinion on the various events I described. I told him the rumors and speculations about the Darkspawn incursions down south running rampant among the alehouses patronized by commoners. I expected him to take little interest in it, since it was far away and did not seem to have much bearing on Crow concerns. But he raised his hand for silence when I started talking about what I'd heard at the Gnawed Noble and my encounter with Ser Meril.

"These Darkspawn sightings are increasing, you say?"

"If one can believe the rumors, yes, Master."

"Do you?"

"Believe them?" I said, looking for the trap in his words. "Those I talked to certainly believed them."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "I wasn't asking your opinion of a mark's veracity, Araini."

I bowed. "Pardon, Master. To answer your question…I'm not sure. Stories grow with the telling, do they not?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Yes, they do indeed. What about the nobles? What do they think?"

I'd only visited the Gnawed Noble for a few nights before Master Stefan had summoned me. He knew that, so no need to remind him.

"From what I've heard so far, some of them are very worried. Most of them seem to think that while it's…unusual, there is nothing ominous about it. And that the armies in the south will deal with it."

He leaned back even farther, putting a booted foot on the edge of his desk.

"You know anything about the history of the Blight?"

"A little, Master. There have been several, yes?"

He grunted and stood up. "Four, in fact. Before I became a master, one of my marks in Antiva was a mage who was fascinated by the topic. Knew more than a lot of scholars. He'd collected a great deal of history, even wrote a commentary on it. I took his book collection as part of my payment."

Now, history was an unusual interest for a Crow master. They were usually more concerned with gathering wealth and finding new and creative ways of making life miserable for their underlings.

"I won't bore you with the details, but Blights also seem to bring about interesting political divisions." He smiled. "Ones that usually result in an increased demand for our services."

Ah, now there was the kind of master I was used to. One who always had his eye on the bottom line. I quickly gave him the rest of my report, then handed over the written version which contained nothing I hadn't already told him.

"This Ser Meril, are you seeing him again?" he asked, as he accepted the sealed document from me.

"We've made arrangements," I said with a smile.

The Master tossed me a pouch that had been sitting on his desk. He always did that when he paid. Probably something to do with testing reflexes.

"Find out everything he knows about this Arl Howe. From what you told me, that man seems one to watch."

I bowed and turned to leave.

"Watch your back out there, Araini," Master Stefan said when I had set a foot beyond his office door. "You never know what sort of betrayal is hiding in the shadows."

"Yes, Master," I said, and hurried back to my room, his words echoing in the hollow spaces outside my heart where I now lived.

* * *

The Crows could be generous. Master Stefan's purse bought me a better room in a clean inn that even included a daily bath in the cost of the rent. But nothing, especially where the Crows are concerned, comes without a price.

Once back at the inn, I upended the purse onto the bed. Thirty sovereigns glittered in a stray beam of sunlight. Thirty sovereigns. The payment I'd received for the merchant the night Rinna had died. I set another ring of stones around my heart. It had been foolish to think that Master Stefan hadn't known. And if that blade had been more skillfully wielded than most, it had been no less sharp.

I gathered the coins back into the pouch and set it on the table, then leaned against the window and stared out over the harbor for a long time.

* * *

I spent several more nights in Ser Meril's quite comfortable bed and quite pleasant company before he was called to the south. In between all the lovemaking, he told me a great deal about what was happening at court, especially about Arl Howe and the nasty little plots he was suspected of hatching and carrying out. The knight really did detest the man, almost to the point of obsession. Unfortunately, the arl was also apparently clever enough to hide his tracks, so there was no solid evidence to tie him to any plot.

"Yes, but 'where there's smoke, there's fire' as a Ferelden saying goes," Master Stefan remarked when I finished my report. "Arl Howe sounds a man who would not be averse to some professional assistance. Especially now that he's added the title of arl of Denerim to his list." He smiled. "And it hasn't even been officially announced yet. Well done, Araini."

I smiled and bowed and retreated back to my rooms with a heavy purse. Master Stefan was quite generous, and quite capable of slitting my throat in a heartbeat if I displeased him in the least thing.

I stared down at the sovereigns scattered across my bed. This house master seemed to lack the sadistic temperament that so many had, but a cage made of gold was still a cage. Even more than the human assassins, I was only something to be used, an expendable commodity that might be useful for a time, until some master decided that usefulness was ended.

Running was not an option. The Crows would pursue me till I was a feast for a scavenger. I was good and luck favored me more often than not. But it was the _not_ part that would get me killed and that death would be something grisly and ugly for one who'd gone rogue.

I gathered up the coins and poured them back into the leather purse.

There were only two ways out. Find another master that the Crows were not willing to cross, or slit my own throat. The first was unlikely, and the second…I actually pulled out my dagger. The usual poison on the blade was quick and painless, a clean death.

A breeze drifted through my room, stirring the curtains and bringing the scent of flowers and open sea. I took a deeper breath and smelled roses and a flower I didn't recognize, but it was sweet. There is a saying in Antiva – "It rains often, but the flowers always bloom."

I slipped my dagger back into its sheath and wandered over to the window. Below in the street, a pretty woman carried a basket of deep red roses and ivory bell-shaped blooms. Not for sale, she was talking to another woman. The second was rather plain, but there was a sparkle in her eye and the wind danced with her hair. I sighed. It seemed, despite everything that had happened with Rinna, some part of me wasn't finished watching the flowers bloom.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who's come for a look. Enjoy. _

**Darrian Tabris**

Before returning to Duncan, I dropped the flowers off with the kennel master. His eyes brightened when he opened the bag.

"This is exactly what I need. Thank you." He rummaged through his purse and held out several silver coins. "Please, take it. It's not much, but I appreciate you bringing this. Tam's got a good chance at making it now."

"Oh…thank you." I gazed down at the coins that had left his hand so easily. And all for picking a few flowers.

"I'll get the treaties to Duncan," Alistair said. "Why don't you and the others get some dinner? I'll let you know when the Joining will take place."

I nodded, and he headed off in the direction of Duncan's tent, Jory and Daveth trailing behind.

I slipped the coins into my pocket, but before I left to get something to eat, I checked on Tam. He was stretched out on his side, but lifted his head and looked at me when I crouched down by the fence. His tail thumped against the ground, then he whimpered and lay back down. I hoped the human would be able to help him.

#

Just before sunset, we left for the temple where the Joining was to take place. A large, pearl-colored goblet waited on a stone table behind Duncan. Jory kept casting nervous glances at it while Duncan talked.

"For centuries, the Gray Wardens have protected the land from the Darkspawn. I will not lie; we pay a heavy price for our victories. Some pay that price now rather than later." He motioned towards the goblet. "In the Joining, we drink the blood of our enemies. It is the source of our power and our victory."

"We're…going to drink the blood of…of those creatures?" Jory said, looking horrified.

He paled, and my stomach churned at the thought of consuming it. But my feet were already set on the road.

"The words we speak at this time are few, but they have been said since the beginning. Alistair, if you would please," Duncan said.

Alistair bowed his head, and Daveth and I joined him.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifices will not be forgotten. And know that one day, we will join you," Alistair said in a soft and reverent voice. It sounded like a prayer, like a plea, like a promise.

Jory kept looking back and forth between us and the cup while Alistair spoke, swallowing and looking ready to bolt at any moment.

Duncan stepped forward and picked up the cup, then turned to face us.

"Daveth, come forth."

The cutpurse and pickpocket stepped forward, and he seemed to show more courage than the knight, who any would have declared the more honorable man. Daveth gazed into the goblet a moment, then drank before handing it back to Duncan. For a moment, nothing happened, then Daveth doubled over, gasping and falling to his knees. He curled in on himself, shuddering. Then he looked up, his eyes veiled in white.

"Maker's breath!" Jory exclaimed, backing up, his hand going to his sword.

Daveth cried out. Clutching his throat he collapsed, then lay very still.

I swallowed, fighting the instinct to run.

"I'm sorry, Daveth," Duncan said softly. I saw the sorrow in his eyes and remembered the respect in his voice when he had talked of the men and women who had sacrificed everything. It steadied me.

Duncan held up the cup.

"Jory, come forth."

"No," the knight said. "You ask too much. I have a wife…a child." He started backing away.

"There is no turning back," Duncan said. He placed the cup on the table then, moved towards the knight.

Jory drew his sword and raised it. "No, there is no glory in this." He took one swing, his face angry and hard. Duncan pulled a long dagger from behind his back. He darted under Jory's swing. A heartbeat later, the dagger found Jory's neck, and his blood sprayed out.

"I am sorry," Duncan said, and stepped away, watching the knight crumple to the cracked stone floor of the temple. Alistair never moved, and while his sorrow was plain in his face, he didn't seem surprised by what Duncan had just done.

My hands clenched. My heart pounded. Death might wait for me in that cup. It would have come for me in Denerim if I hadn't accepted Duncan's offer. It waited for me at the end of Duncan's blade if I refused. I wasn't ready to die. So, when Duncan held out the cup to me, I took it and drank.

The metallic taste of blood burned down my throat and settled in the pit of my stomach. Nothing. Then pain, sharp as daggers, radiating from my gut. I doubled over, gasping. Looking up, I saw Duncan and Alistair wreathed in black flame. Wrapping around their limbs and flickering over their faces. In a distant corner of my mind, not consumed with pain, I wondered if Daveth had seen that before he died.

I felt that same black fire licking over my skin. Seeping into my bone and muscle, making them stronger yet leaving me so weak I could barely lift my head. I cried out as the flame burned inside me, burned away the dim evening light, burned away what might be the sound of voices, and burned away everything till only the darkness was left.

* * *

I ran through long twisting tunnels, black as a moonless sky, though whether towards something or away I couldn't remember. Someone…something…sang in a voice as sweet as a spring rain, calling to me, but black flames licked at my heels, and beneath the sweetness was the stench of death. I sat up with a gasp and found myself on a cot in a large tent. My armor was gone. I had been stripped to pants and shirt.

"Did you dream? I had terrible dreams after my Joining," Alistair said. I twisted around and saw him sitting on the ground, still wearing his armor. Had he kept watch all night?

Pale morning sunlight filtered through the tent opening.

"Yes, but I don't remember anything specific." My heart was still racing.

"Lucky you," he said with a crooked grin. "They're worse for some. And I've heard they can be worse for those who join during a Blight." He pushed himself to his feet. "There's breakfast if you feel up to it."

As Alistair reached for the tent flap it was pulled down and Duncan slipped inside.

"Welcome, Warden…brother," he said to me.

I swallowed, the events of last night rushing back. "You…Jory…."

"He gave me no choice when he drew his sword. I took no pleasure in killing him. But he had pledged himself."

I closed my eyes. _We do whatever it takes to stop the Darkspaw,n_ Duncan had told me on the road. After my encounter with them yesterday, after watching how their blood and even just the touch of their bodies turned the land sere and black, I understood why he'd said that.

I rolled off the cot and swayed on my feet a moment before finding my balance. Duncan gripped my shoulder.

"After breakfast, join me at the King's tent. We'll be discussing the strategy for the coming battle." He didn't even glance at Alistair when he said that, then he squeezed my shoulder and left.

"Come on, let's go before all the bacon's gone," Alistair said, turning towards the opening. I laid my hand on his arm. He started, but didn't pull away.

"Why weren't you included?" I asked.

"You speak your mind, don't you?" he snapped.

I stiffened. Had I misread this _shem?_ "You have a problem with that, human?"

"Look…I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" His eyes strayed to my ears. "It's just…I have other duties this morning."

He was lying. And from the look he gave me, I think he realized I knew that. But I didn't press the issue, and he looked almost relieved when I asked about Daveth.

"The Wardens held the service last night. The ashes will be sent to Denerim to be interred."

"And the knight?"

Alistair grimaced. "Scattered on the wind. He was forsworn."

We headed out for breakfast then. And fortunately, for Alistair, there was plenty of bacon left.

* * *

After breakfast, Alistair helped me buckle on my armor before I headed down to the meeting with the king. Then he handed me a small silver locket on a braided silver chain.

"Here, we put some of the blood from the Joining into it and give it to the new recruits. A way of remembering those…who didn't make it."

The locket was plain, nothing marring the bright surface, but the lack of decoration seemed fitting somehow. I slipped it around my neck and tucked it inside my armor. Then Alistair clapped me on the back and strode away, as though he had a dozen important tasks to complete and very little time to do them in.

It made no sense to exclude Alistair, I thought, as I headed for the opposite end of the old temple where I'd been told the meeting was being held. He was senior to me. I was barely recovered from the Joining. Though, as I started for the meeting, I wondered if anyone ever really recovered.

* * *

Alistair wasn't happy when Duncan told him that the king had requested the two of us to light the beacon to signal Loghain's troops to attack.

"This is at the king's personal request, Alistair," Duncan said. The ex-Templar looked away, then nodded.

"You should get some rest," I said to Alistair after Duncan left. "You were up all night, weren't you?"

"Well, maybe…" he said rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose you're right." He grinned at me. "So, now it's your turn to keep watch."

Alistair fell asleep, armor and all, almost as soon as he lay down on the cot. I dozed nearby, and while shadows flitted across my dreams, there was none of the running terror I had felt earlier.

A blood red sun hung low on the horizon when we made our way to the bridge. Soldiers rushed past us, getting into position. We had only stepped onto the bridge when the assault began.

"Maker's breath," Alistair said, as flaming boulders vaulted over us. He grabbed my arm. "Come, we've got to get to the tower."

We raced across, dodging fragments of flaming stone. I glanced back to see a man, wreathed in fire, fall into the abyss, screaming.

"Darkspawn! They're everywhere!" a guard running towards us from the tower cried out, his eyes wide, and a mage trailing him. He was trembling from head to heel. "They came up from the ground. From the basement, I think. They've already killed most of the guards."

The mage's hands tightened on her staff, but she wasn't trembling.

"The beacon. Have they gotten to it?" I asked the mage.

"I don't think so." She glanced back at the tower. "Sweet Andraste, if it isn't lit…."

"How did they get here?" Alistair said. "The main part of the horde hasn't even arrived yet."

"I don't think it matters. And weren't you complaining about being kept out of the fighting?"

Alistair stared at me a moment, then laughed. "You know, you're right. There is a bright side to this."

Even the mage smiled, though the guard looked at us as if we had both gone mad. But when we charged into the tower, he was right behind us.

* * *

When we'd cleared out the few knots of Darkspawn and entered the first floor of the tower, I secured my bow across my back. It would be little use in the curving halls.

Torches burned in sconces on the wall, and shadows flickered in the dim yellow light. The stench of blood and the rotten meat smell of Darkspawn was everywhere, so thick you could taste it. I tried not to breathe too deeply.

"Sure I can't talk you into a shield?" Alistair said, glancing at the dagger in my left hand, then at the ground littered with dead soldiers and fallen weapons.

"This is my shield," I said, and turned it so he could see the slots on both sides of the dagger's blade. He looked doubtful. I smiled. "Trust me, it works."

I felt them before I saw them, a black oily skim across the back of my mind. Alistair pivoted, and four genlocks rushed out of a side room, pushing aside a splintered door. He took the first, cutting off the head. Red blood sprayed out. I pivoted, felt the vile hotness soak the back of my neck as I took the second's head. The third shattered when the mage hit it with an ice spell and the guard's sword came down in an overhand strike. Alistair took the last.

I stood there, panting, vibrating with battle fervor, my heart racing. I was alive, and not lying in pieces on the floor. Like so many of the humans were.

Alistair shuddered. Not from fear. I felt the Darkspawn, too, above me, like black shadows pressing against my skin, but blurring together so I didn't know if I sensed five or ten or fifty.

"How many floors in this tower?" I asked the mage.

"Including this one, four. And the fourth one is where the beacon is," she said.

"Can you tell how many Darkspawn?" I asked Alistair.

He shook his head. "No, just that there's a lot of them. But they feel like they're spread out. So if we don't do anything stupid, like rushing in like those heroes in the stories do, we should be able to take all of them."

I wiped my blades off on a Darkspawn then sheathed my weapons. "Let me take point. I can move faster and a lot more quietly than you." I eased forward till I was in front. "Stay back behind me, use any cover you can to hide and I'll lure them in."

I took a step, then slipped in a pool of blood, skidding to the end of the hall before tumbling on my backside. I twisted to get up and found myself staring at a human's head. It had been torn off. My stomach contracted and emptied itself into the blood.

Then Alistair was there, helping me up. He looked pale as well.

"You get used to the blood…and the smell," he said. I shuddered and wiped my mouth. I hadn't reacted like this when I went to rescue Shianni and the others from Denerim castle. Maybe because I'd been so focused on finding them, everything else had been blocked out. I needed to do that here. Focus on getting to the beacon to light it in time for Loghain's troops to support the Wardens and the King. I nodded to Alistair and we headed up the stairs.

The strategy I'd outlined worked, and by the time we reached the top, the tower was littered with the dead. I peeked around the door on the top level, open to the sky since the roof was gone. I didn't recognize the monstrous Darkspawn crouched on the ground in the center, its back to us. When I realized the sound of crunching and tearing meant it was feeding on the dead soldiers who'd been sent to light the beacon, my stomach threatened to empty again. I forced down the bile and pulled my bow.

"What is that?" I whispered to Alistair as he eased up beside me.

"Ogre." His hand tightened on his sword. He glanced back at the guard. "You and I will distract him." The guard nodded. Alistair glanced at me and the mage. "Stay out of range of his arms and watch out. They like to charge."

The mage came up beside me, her staff cradled in her hands while Alistair and the guard eased forward, then shouted battle cries and charged. The ogre whirled, faster than I thought something that large and bulky could move. The floor vibrated as it pounded towards Alistair.

I slipped to the right and the mage to the left, to flank it and catch it in a cross fire of mage bolts and arrows. With only half a dozen arrows left, I needed to make each one count. The ogre reared back for a battle cry and my first arrow ended embedded in its shoulder and not the neck.

The Darkspawn never noticed. It swung and Alistair skipped back while the guard ducked in behind, trying to slice at its legs. My second shot went through the back of its leg, down near the heel. The ogre stumbled. It roared and flung up an arm. Alistair was shoved back but kept his feet. Mage bolts winged in, singeing it, adding the stench of burned hair and flesh to every other stink.

I quickly used up the rest of my arrows, then dropped my bow and pulled my blades.

The mage's spells were getting weaker, but so was the ogre. Moving slower, stumbling, its swings seemed less sure, less powerful. A piece at a time, we wore it down, till finally it stumbled, bleeding from dozens of wounds, and crashed onto its back. Alistair charged forward, scrambling up its chest and driving his sword deep into its heart, then twisting it.

The ogre lay still. Dead.

I rushed forward and grabbed a torch. Set it to the oil soaked wood. It flared up. Leaning over the side and straining to see in the failing light - I heard a distant roar: -the sound of battle almost directly below us, the Wardens and Cailan fighting the Darkspawn in the dying light of the sun. The horde swarmed through the narrow entrance to Ostagar like a black wave.

Where were Loghain's troops? They should be charging forward, coming up behind and flanking the Darkspawn. Alistair rushed up, panting, blood dripping from his sword.

"Maker's breath," he said, pointing with his blade to a line of torches marching away from the tower. "Loghain's leading them away."

Behind us came the scream of battle. We whirled and Darkspawn poured through the opening. I didn't even have time to raise my weapons before arrows pierced my thigh and shoulder and sank deep into my gut. They rushed forward and the darkness claimed me.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Many thanks to those who've added this to their favorites/alerts. And to those who've reviewed. Your support and comments are appreciated. A story isn't complete until someone reads it. I'm glad to know, y'all are enjoying it. _

**Zevran Araini**

It wasn't unusual for an agent to give a report while a master dined. Depending on the situation, all sorts of things could be implied. A subtle warning that the next meal you ate might be your last. An implicit promise of reward of the finer things in life. Or, and this was the more usual meaning in my experience, simply to torment a poor starving assassin. But Master Stefan seemed to have none of these in mind. He leaned back and only sipped his wine while I told him the latest gossip, rumors and speculations circulating among the nobles. Then he pointed to a chair at the end of the table.

"Sit."

I stared at the chair he had indicated then glanced back at him. He took a sip of wine and pointed again. I sat, every muscle poised for flight. I'd already given him my report. Why was I still here?

"You've done quite well, Araini."

I inclined my head. "Thank you, Master."

He leaned forward, both elbows resting on the table, his hands circling his wine cup.

"Clever. Skilled in seduction. Slippery as a serpent. You would go far in the Crows…if you were human."

I shrugged, but, under the table, my hands clenched.

"And why would I wish that, Master? To become a target? I am content to serve."

Master Stefan laughed, clear and light and strangely devoid of mockery. "Every Crow is a target for another. Didn't you learn that?"

"Of course, Master. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"

He sipped his wine and glanced down at his untouched plate. "Hmm, neither of us would. And I doubt me very much that you are 'content to serve.'" He leaned back. "If you were, you would have stayed in Antiva after that incident with Rinna. You would have bid on contracts when you came here, not spent two months hiding in dockside bars and brothels and cutting purses for coin."

I waved a hand, while the stones around my heart cracked at the mention of Rinna's name. "What happened in Antiva is old history. And I like dockside bars and brothels."

"History shapes what we are, what we become, Araini. Individuals, as well as nations. As for the dockside…I'll admit it has its charms."

He set down his cup and pushed back his chair, then came around to the end of the table where I sat. He leaned on the table on one hand and slipped his other under my chin. I dropped my eyes, and unclenched my hands, laid my palms flat on my thighs. Masters did what they wished with those in their house; that was one of the first lessons I'd learned.

"Look at me, Araini," said a soft purr of a voice, low, seductive. But when I met his eyes, I saw no lust there. I held perfectly still.

His eyes were dark blue, like sapphires, but you could read nothing beyond their surface. Though they were not flat like a serpent's, the way Master Jepheth's were. These eyes had depth, but no matter how long or hard you looked, you wouldn't see the bottom unless Master Stefan wished it. Perhaps not even then.

He released me and straightened, but stayed standing in place.

"Do you believe in seers, Araini?"

I blinked, not certain how to answer his question. "I've…never consulted one, Master."

He laughed and headed back to his seat. "If true, you must be the only Crow who hasn't." He settled back in his chair and pointed to the purse next to a bowl of fruit. "Take it. Report back in two days."

I rose and bowed, retrieved the purse and slipped out of the room, Master Stefan's eyes following me all the while.

It was only early evening, so I headed down to the docks, where the sleek pleasure crafts of the wealthy and the ships that hauled luxury goods were berthed. I'd thought I'd had the reading of Master Stefan, a man more subtle than most, not inclined to the whip and not one to punish simply because he liked to see an underling suffer. A good Master, as a Crow would deem it. So why did he put me on my guard more than Master Jepheth ever had?

Though the evening still held warmth, I pulled up the hood of my cloak and shivered.

* * *

Bad news spreads fast. And when the news of the fall of Ostagar hit Denerim like a dark wave, it was the only topic of conversation in the alehouses and along the dockside. Loghain rode in on that wave, claiming the throne. Not directly, but as regent for his daughter, Queen Anora. Which seemed odd, as according to everything I had heard, she was the real power behind the throne when Cailan was alive. And quite a competent one, if even half of what the nobles said was true.

I studied her as she stood behind her father on a balcony of Denerim castle, overlooking an assembly of many of the ruling nobles, illuminated by torchlight. Slender and pretty and as deadly as a dagger, judging by her eyes.

I crouched farther down into the darkness in the narrow alley from where I watched the nobles gather in the square, the hood of my black cloak pulled forward. Hidden in an alcove, deep and wide enough to hold two, I turned so I could scan both the balcony and the alley behind me. I caught a flicker of shadow from the corner of my eye, and followed it flowing down the side of the narrow space, swift and silent.

It merged into the alcove, and when it turned, I saw Master Stefan's face in the shadow of his cloak hood.

"Where did you pick me up?" he whispered.

"Two feet from the entrance, Master." I'd known he was coming, but not when.

"Impressive."

I inclined my head. He nodded at the balcony.

"Has it started yet?"

"No, Master."

Loghain strode forward, his armor gleaming in the multitude of torches and lamps illuminating the balcony. With Ferelden's flag prominently displayed behind him it looked a bit theatrical and from what I'd heard of Loghain he'd seemed a man who had little use for the 'frivolities' of rank. I glanced at Anora; this setting had a wilier touch to it, a woman's touch.

"I have called you here to inform you of the need to rebuild the army against the threat of the Darkspawn. I expect each of you to supply these men. We must replace what we lost at Ostagar, and quickly." He paused, and his voice went even harder. "There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state, if we let them."

"He means Orlais," Master Stefan whispered, his gaze still on the Teryn. "Loghain and Cailan's father, Maric, threw the Orlesians out of Ferelden more than twenty years ago after a hundred year occupation."

"We must defeat this Darkspawn incursion, but sensibly and without hesitation," Loghain continued.

One of the nobles stepped forward, and Loghain recognized him with a raised hand.

"Your lordship, if I might speak?" Loghain nodded. "You have proclaimed yourself Queen Anora's regent and claim we must unite under your banner for our own good. But what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal was most…fortuitous."

"Well, that certainly provoked a reaction," Master Stefan whispered, as the nobles around the speaker stirred, breaking into angry whispers.

Loghain stepped forward; and rested his fists on the balcony. His voice boomed out over the crowd.

"Everything I have done has been to secure Ferelden's independence. Many good men shed their blood to win back our freedom from the Orlesian dogs. I have not forgotten their sacrifices, and I have not shirked my duty to the throne. Neither will any of you," he said, his voice rising in anger.

"The bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it," the dissenting noble said. Brave words, but the kind that make one a target.

"Understand this, I will tolerate no threat to this nation from you-" Loghain jabbed a finger at him then glared at the rest of the crowd.. "Or anyone." Then he turned and strode back into the palace, his guards following.

"Come," Master Stefan said, and I followed him back to the Crow house.

Master Stefan stared out the window of his office while I waited just in front of his desk. Beyond an ink well, pens, and some blank paper there was nothing on it. There never was much on it, at least not when I was there.

"Teryn Loghain is a fool," Master Stefan said before turning and settling into his chair. "Darkspawn are rising and he courts civil war like a love-sick youth. Though I expect it will prove profitable for the Crows. Perhaps even for you, Araini."

"Master?"

"Of course, that would depend on what kind of profit you're looking for, wouldn't it?"

I dropped my eyes. "Is there something you wish me to do, Master?"

He swiveled his chair around and resumed looking out his window. "Just keep yourself available, Araini. Now go."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Well, the last two Gray Wardens have survived the battle at Ostagar, and now have to venture out and start building an army. No worries, right? Enjoy._

**Darrian Tabris**

After dinner, I slipped out of Flemeth's hut and wandered to the pond to watch the sunset. Alistair joined me a few moments later. Morrigan's mother had been vague about just how she had gotten us off that tower when the Darkspawn swarmed towards us. I suppose it really didn't matter, since we were both alive.

"How long was I out?" I asked Alistair as he came up beside me.

"Almost four days. I…didn't think you were going to make it at first."

I smiled. "I'm pretty hard to kill. Or did the Joining have something to do with that?"

He grinned. "No, that was all you. Wolfing down almost three bowls of stew…that was the Joining. It's not so bad after a while. You won't always feel like eating everything in sight."

"That's good to know."

"Well, at least Morrigan can cook. So we won't be stuck with charred rabbit every night." He glanced at me. "Uh…can you cook?"

I smiled. "Reasonably well. My father was a good cook."

He looked relieved, but only for a moment. "I understand the point Flemeth made about accepting help, but Morrigan… _is_ an apostate. I'd hate to have to fight another…well, I'm not a templar anymore, but you know what I mean."

I pried up a small stone from the dirt with the toe of my boot, my arms folded. "With just the two of us, we need all the help we can get if we're going to build an army."

Alistair sighed. "Yes, and the Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them. Done whatever was needed." He picked up the stone I had dug out and pitched it into the water. The plop sounded loud in the still evening. "You really think we can do it? Unite the land?"

"Do we have a choice?"

He brushed the dirt off his fingers on the side of his pants. "No, I only hope we can do it before the Blight overwhelms us."

So did I.

* * *

It only took a day to walk out of the Wilds from Flemeth's hut to Lothering, the small village Morrigan had suggested as our first stop. Pond-filled and stream-crossed land gave way to drier ground, and fenced fields on either side of the road. It was farm country, but the land was strangely silent. We paused at midday beside one abandoned field to rest and eat.

"It's too quiet," Alistair said, looking around. Then I heard a distant bark coming from somewhere down the road in front of us. A Mabari came racing up, then skidded to a stop in front of me, barking, and his short tail wagging.

"It looks like the dog the kennel master was treating," I said, crouching down to examine him. Somehow, he'd survived the battle and found me. He huffed softly then sat down in front of me, as though he was expecting something.

"I think someone's been imprinted," Alistair said in a sing-song voice.

"Imprinted?"

Alistair nodded. "They attach themselves to one master. With his former one dead, he's picked you it seems. Probably remembers you helped him."

I held out my hand and the Mabari sniffed, then licked it. What was his name? I frowned, trying to remember. Oh, yes…"Tam."

He barked, sounding happy.

"Please don't tell me this mangy mutt is going to be following us all over Ferelden now," Morrigan said, rolling her eyes.

"He's not mangy," Alistair said, holding out his fingers for Tam to sniff.

I rose. "Maybe you should take him. I don't know much about dogs."

Alistair laughed and raised his hands. "He's all yours. Like I said, they pick their own masters."

Tam barked and wagged his tail. "Well," I said. "I guess I'll have to learn then."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and we headed down the road.

We were, all of us, footsore and hungry when we came in sight of Lothering an hour or so before sunset. A small knot of armed men sitting on crates by some overturned wagons quickly dispersed across the road as we approached. With a low wall on either side of the road, there was no way to skirt around them.

A man in leather armor stepped forward, and his eyes focused on me. "Well, this group's led by a knife-ear."

I scowled and stopped. Typical _shem._

"Looks like bandits," Alistair said, close to my ear.

"Uh, they don't look like them others," another man said, coming up beside the first and looking at the weapons I rested my hands on.

I felt a tingle of magic across the back of my neck as Morrigan stepped forward. "I say we teach them a lesson."

"Now, now, no need for violence," the first man said. "Just pay the toll of ten silvers and you can be on your way."

I drew my sword. "I don't think so."

"Kill them," the bandit leader cried, drawing his sword.

Three archers stepped out from behind the wagons, raising their bows. I went for them while Alistair drew his sword and charged the leader. A lance of ice skimmed over my right shoulder and one of the archers went down, shattering as he fell.

My sword sliced the second archer's bow in half, then I whirled and sliced the man's throat. Morrigan was fast. By the time I turned to the third, he was already dead from an ice lance.

The leader was down, pierced through the heart by Alistair, and I took out the fifth man from behind.

A minute, perhaps two, and it was over. Blood quickly gathered in thick dark pools, the coppery scent so thick I could taste it, mixing with the stench of bowels loosened by death. My stomach threatened to heave, and I choked down the bile. Alistair had said I would get used to the smell. Part of me hoped I would. Part of me was horrified at the notion.

Panting, I eased away from the bodies and quietly threw up on the side of the road. Then I cleaned off my weapons and re-sheathed them. When I turned around, Alistair was turning the dead bandit leader over with his foot.

"Well, at least they won't be robbing anyone else."

I focused on the bulging purse hanging from the leader's belt. They wouldn't need the money they'd extorted from helpless travelers, either. I pulled my dagger, sidestepping the pools of blood, and quickly sliced off the purses that hung from the two closest bodies and stuffed them into my pocket. I felt Alistair staring but he didn't say anything till I started stripping off the plain gold rings the leader wore on several fingers and a jade pendant.

"What…what in the name of the Maker do you think you're doing?"

I looked up, my face set and hard, as I felt the need to survive, to shove past the boundaries of what the _shem_ allowed us come rising again to the surface. It was the kind of face we never let the humans see, the kind that had earned me a beating when I'd lose control of my temper and forget 'my proper place.'

Alistair swallowed and backed up a step, his sword tip falling to the ground.

"How much money do you have?" I asked, waving at his belt where no purse hung. "It's going to take us months to gather an army, longer if we have to do it on foot. We need horses and food. Weapons and armor will need to be repaired, maybe even replaced. These trinkets are worth a bit of silver." I nodded at the bodies. "As are their weapons and gear."

"But…you're robbing the dead," he said in a horrified whisper.

"They would have robbed us, then left our bodies for the scavengers," Morrigan said. "At least one of you has some sense."

"Alistair," I said in a softer voice. "We do what it takes, remember?" I looked at Morrigan. "And we could cremate the bodies?"

Morrigan frowned, then shrugged. "Very well, if you wish. Though it's more than those cretins deserved."

Alistair turned away, his shoulders tense, and re-positioned his shield on his back. He cleaned off his blade and re-sheathed it. While he didn't help Morrigan and me strip the bodies, or what was left of them, he carried his share as we made our way into the village.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Many thanks to those who've reviewed and added this story to your alert/favorites list. And to those who lurk in the shadows. (You know who you are.) Your support is appreciated. Comments/feedback are, as always, welcome._

_Sometimes, a character you think is going to be a minor player starts taking on a more prominent role. He or she, slips out of the shadows and snags your attention. So it was with Master Stefan, presented here, with his own view on what's happening in Ferelden.  
_

**Master Stefan**

If the study of history had taught him anything, it was that men like Arl Howe were always there in times of unrest, vultures clustering around a corpse, picking at the bones of power and caring only about their own appetites. So it wasn't hard to lure men like Howe with the promise of easier hunting. And that hunting usually left plenty of scraps for those like the Crows.

Stefan hid a smile as he lounged in the comfortably padded chair in a private room at the Gnawed Noble. He enjoyed a glass of wine while he waited for the arl to show. Howe was right on time, heavily cloaked and hooded as he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. _We are scavengers feeding on scavengers_, Stefan thought, not for the first time, as he rose and bowed, then waited for the arl to sit before resuming his seat.

"You came alone?" Stefan asked, putting his glass aside.

"My guard is outside the tavern, if that's what you mean." Zevran's mark, Ser Meril, was right; the man did have the voice of a serpent. As for the guard, it was a violation of their arrangement, but Stefan wasn't going to push the issue. He'd expected the arl to do exactly what he'd done.

"I found your proposal…interesting," Arl Howe said. "It's not typically how we do things in Ferelden, but extreme circumstances sometimes require extreme measures."

"You understand, of course, that I would not personally see to any work you may decide to send our way. But I can assure you, my lord, whoever is designated to fulfill any contract will be more than skilled."

Howe threw back his hood. Above that hawk nose lived a vulture's eyes. "You're not Fereldan."

Stefan inclined his head. "No, I was born in Antiva. But I consider Ferelden a second home, as it were."

Those vulture eyes narrowed. "I've done some checking on your…guild. I must say I am impressed. I can appreciate the…advantages your services could give us. But there are others who still have some doubts."

"I understand, my lord. Such things should not be rushed. I am available at your convenience."

Howe studied him for a long moment then rose. "When things are decided, shall I contact Ignacio in the market again?"

Stefan rose and bowed. "That would be most convenient, my lord. Whatever 'merchandise' you decide to purchase, the order can be left with him. He will see that I am informed of your needs. And can relay the necessary contracts."

After a curt nod, Howe pulled up his hood and left, closing the door behind him. Stefan settled back in his chair and picked up his wine glass.

"What do think, Araini?"

Zevran slipped out of the small closet and glanced at the closed door, then at Stefan.

"I think the Crows will be seeing an increase in business."

"Yes, betraying one's associates does tend to do that, doesn't it?"

Zevran stiffened, then relaxed, so subtly and quickly anyone else would have missed it. Unlike the subtle reminders he'd given earlier, this time Stefan hadn't intended a reference to the incident with Rinna, but it seemed that after three months it still preyed on the elf's soul.

Stefan studied the wine in his glass. Almost seventeen years in the Crows, and Zevran Araini still had a working heart. That spoke a great deal of his resilience and tenacity. It really was a pity and a waste that he would never be raised as Master of a house. And when his beauty started to fade, as all beauty did sooner or later, he would be disposed of; another foolish waste. If someone didn't decide to get rid of him for that flippant tongue first, though Stefan hadn't witnessed much of that.

Zevran was still staring at the door, giving Stefan an opportunity to study his profile. Those marks on his face were Crow symbols, unique to the few elven masters the guild had raised, though none had been given a house. Those symbols also pre-dated the Crows by at least two thousand years. That much Stefan knew, if not their exact meaning, though he had his suspicions.

He picked up his wine glass. "You're dismissed, Araini. But don't leave the city."

"As you wish, Master."

So respectful, so unlike the man Jepheth despised, Stefan thought, sipping his wine, as he watched Zevran slip out of the room. But then Jepheth, like most humans, never looked below the surface of an elf. That was plain from the report he had forwarded to Stefan when Zevran had left Antiva. Of course, the elf had never let him or anyone else see deeper. That didn't mean those depths didn't exist, only that one had to dig to find them. As for what Stefan had found so far….

His fingertip traced the rim of his wineglass. He'd been able to get deep enough to suspect that the elven assassin was biding his time, waiting for something. But what?

Stefan grimaced as his field of vision contracted, walls of black closing in from the side. He focused on a knot on the polished pine table, letting his eyes drift over it and keeping his breathing even and steady.

His visions usually came in dreams. But the truest ones came in his waking hours. He shivered as a distorted picture of a great dragon flashed across his mind. It wasn't the first time he seen it perched on a high tower, maybe a fort's, while battle raged below it. But this time, in the midst of that battle Zevran Araini danced, his blades flashing in the dying light of the sun.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N : Thanks again to everyone who has added this story to their alerts/favorites list and taken the time to review. Your support and comments mean a lot. Another big thank you to brownc0at for keeping me on the straight and narrow grammar path. And to all the lurkers out there, as well.  
_

_ The battle at Ostagar is over and our heroes have survived to fight another day. Now, all they have to do is gather an army. There's a bit of AU here in the meeting with Sten. It never really made much sense to me that, after murdering an entire family, he was allowed to just walk away with the Warden. Even if the Revered Mother trusted Leliana's judegment. That explanation always felt a bit weak to me._ Please feel free to R&R. Enjoy!

**Darrian Tabris**

Lothering overflowed with refugees fleeing the Darkspawn incursions in the south. Even the few days we had spent at Morrigan's had been enough for them to drive farmers and Chasind folk from the edges of the Korcari Wilds. Slowly, but surely, the Darkspawn were spreading north.

The fields just outside the village walls were crowded with makeshift tents, and the smell of cooking filled the air. I turned at the growling sound behind me, thinking Tam was upset about something. Alistair flushed.

"Uh, sorry about that. But it's been a long time since lunch."

"If I may make a suggestion," Morrigan said. "Let us get rid of this armor and weapons first. I know a merchant who doesn't cheat too much."

We followed Morrigan through the open village gates, then down a narrow lane on the left to a rough-looking man who sat on a stool surrounded by open crates filled with odds and ends - leather greaves, worn daggers, pots, and even a plowshare.

As skilled as my mother had been at fighting, my father had been at bargaining. Like her, he'd taught me everything he knew. So, we ended up with about three sovereigns for the bits of jewelry and the armor and gear from the bandits.

We headed back toward the small inn we'd seen, across a narrow footbridge spanning a stream that wound through the center of the village.

"We could sleep at the Chantry for a small donation," Alistair said. "It would be cheaper than the inn."

Morrigan frowned, and her hand tightened on her staff.

"Is that…for the best?" I asked Alistair, thinking Morrigan probably wouldn't be too comfortable sleeping near some Templar who might take into his head to slit her throat for being an illegal mage. Tam pushed against Alistair, nudging him towards the inn.

"Well, it seems that mongrel has more sense," Morrigan said.

"He is not a mongrel. Are you, boy?" Alistair said, scratching him behind an ear. Tam barked, his tail wagging.

"There's no more room," a Templar keeping watch said, as we approached.

"Are you saying we can't stay in the village?" I asked.

The Templar shrugged. "If you're looking for a place to stay, the Chantry's full." He jerked a thumb behind him. "If you want to pay your respects, you can go in, but you'll have to find someplace else to sleep. Inn's full up too."

"Ah, a night spent sleeping under the stars," Alistair said.

"We don't even have a blanket," I muttered. I was tired and hungry and there were five men dead because of us. Five men dead.

I stalked away, heading for the inn. I didn't feel sick. I was…angry…and sad. Five useless deaths. Swords that might have been used to fight the Darkspawn now lay in a secondhand peddler's crate. Those bandits had died a stupid and pointless death, for a handful of sovereigns. And I'd stripped the bodies of anything of value because we needed every coin we could get. I had done what was needed, but that didn't mean I liked it…or myself at the moment. And Duncan was dead, which left everything on us, on me, since that bloody ex-templar…

I started when I felt Alistair's hand grip my shoulder. I stopped and turned.

"Darrian, what's wrong?"

I shook off his hand. "Leave me alone, _shem." _

He grabbed my shoulder again, and my hand closed over his wrist. I'd meant to throw it off, but the look on his face stopped me, hurt and concern intermingled on it. Morrigan hovered behind him, her eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. It's just…I'm tired and…" I swallowed. "Look, let's see if we can't at least get a hot meal. Maybe someone will be willing to sell us some horses and a wagon."

"Now that is a sensible suggestion," Morrigan said.

Alistair's stomach rumbled again, and he sighed. Tam huffed and pushed his head against my hand. He looked…worried. I rubbed his head. "You're probably hungry too, aren't you?"

He nudged me towards the inn and I smiled.

We picked our way through the people clustered around small fires, talking, their heads bent close. They look worried and frightened.

The smell of spilled beer and roasting meat greeted us as we entered the inn. I was scanning the crowded common room, looking for an empty table when Alistair stiffened beside me.

"Uh, oh, those look like Teyrn Loghain's men," he said, close to my ear. I turned and four men wearing the tabard that identified them as Loghain's soldiers sauntered up.

"Well, well," said a dark-haired bearded man with a Captain's badge affixed to his breastplate. "What have we here? Deserters from Ostagar? Or maybe…Grey Warden traitors? They fit the description the Teyrn gave us." He grinned and glanced at the men on either side of him, then pulled his sword. "Looks like we'll get to collect that bounty, lads."

I backed up, pulling my dagger, and heard Alistair draw his sword. Morrigan glided to our left behind us as people scrambled out of the way, pressing up against the walls, and retreating up a short stair to an open area with chairs and tables.

"We don't have to fight. We're on the same side," I said.

The Captain scowled. "Not according to Teyrn Loghain. And collecting is easier if you're dead."

He charged forward, his companions moving to flank us. I didn't want to kill them. I'd had enough of killing for one day. I ducked under a sword aimed at taking my head and came in low, punching the wielder hard in the groin. He grunted and folded to the floor, his sword falling from his hands.

"Don't kill them, Tam," I shouted, as the Mabari charged past me. He leapt, diving into a soldier's chest and knocking him to the floor. The man dropped his sword when Tam's jaws closed over his throat. The soldier's eyes widened in fear, but Tam only growled.

Morrigan must have hit the third soldier with a stun spell of some kind because he suddenly dropped to the floor. The Captain was harder to take down. I backed off and got out of Alistair's way. Crouched, I slid to the right while Alistair worked to pull him to the left. I aimed a low kick at his ankles, and the human tumbled to the floor. Alistair's mailed boot came down on his sword arm, holding it in place.

The Captain stilled when my dagger pressed against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Take a message to your Teyrn." The fierceness I heard in my voice surprised me. "Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar."

He swallowed, and then nodded, and I twisted up and away, still holding my dagger, a few drops of blood marring the bright blade. He glanced at me in a way no _shem_ ever had, with respect and a hint of fear. Then he retrieved his sword and his men and they all limped out of the inn.

I wiped the blood off my dagger and resheathed it. My body still hummed with tension as silence gave way to a low rumble of voices filled with speculation. A table cleared beside us, and I managed not to collapse into the chair as the rush of battle fever left me. Somewhere on the landing above the stairs, a lute started playing and a smoky tenor began singing. I wanted to lay my head down on my arms at that moment, but instinct kept me upright. Tam settled on his haunches next to the chair and laid his head on my thigh.

Morrigan leaned in close to me and whispered. "You should have killed them. They won't stop hunting you."

Fortunately, Alistair had already left, probably to get drinks and food.

My right hand clenched and I forced it open. "I've had enough of killing humans for one day."

She tilted her head. "Why should you care about them?"

"I don't. I'm just tired of killing."

"And what will you do when they return, foolish little man? Or when others come?"

I scowled at her. "I have no intention of lying down and dying, if that's what you mean. I think killing five men is enough for one day."

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the approach of a man a head taller than Alistair. His hand rested on his sword belt as he stopped less than arm's length from our table. He didn't look old, despite the white rows of thick braids close to his scalp. Violet eyes gleamed in the lamplight, and his dusky skin had a bronze undertone.

"I'd thought to find a warrior; instead, I find a man who fights like a thief."

Tam lifted his head off my lap, but didn't growl.

"You were looking for me?"

"I was looking for the Grey Wardens. I'd heard they were warriors of skill and cunning, matchless in battle." His eyes flicked over me from head to heel. "I am not impressed."

I stared at him and then…I started laughing. I'd survived the massacre at Ostagar, seen five bandits killed this day and had just driven off four of Teyrn Loghain's elite soldiers. And he wasn't impressed. He frowned at me, and I only laughed harder. Morrigan was looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. Perhaps I had, but I couldn't stop. I leaned my elbows on the table and covered my face with my hands, trying to stifle it.

I heard the thunk of a heavy pitcher and mugs being set on the table. Feeling more in control, I looked up, and saw Alistair frowning at our visitor and sizing him up.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Sten."

"Why were you looking for the Grey Wardens?"

"To fight Darkspawn. And to learn of this Blight."

Alistair leaned back slightly, shifting off the balls of his feet. He reached behind him and dragged up a chair for Sten.

"Forgive me," I said. "But I don't recognize your people."

"Qunari," he said, settling down, looking at each of us in turn.

"Soooo, you want to fight Darkspawn," Alistair said, pouring the beer.

"Yes."

Alistair glanced at me, then at Sten, then back at me. I shrugged.

"I'm glad you didn't kill them," a slender red-haired woman said, coming up with two extra mugs and another pitcher, a lute case slung across her back. Her voice was accented, and I prodded my memories from working the docks.

"You're Orlesian, aren't you?"

She smiled and set down the mugs and pitcher. "Yes, and I am also looking for the Wardens. My name is Leliana."

We introduced ourselves as she set the mugs and pitcher on the table. I pulled up another chair, and she sat beside me. A harried looking server came up with a tray of bowls, slapped them on the table, and then hurried away.

Leliana peered into her bowl. "I don't mean to be rude, but…what is this?"

"Lamb and pea stew," Alistair said around a mouthful.

"Is it supposed to be so…gray?"

"Probably the herbs they used," I murmured. It didn't taste quite as bad as it looked. But it was hot and filled the empty place in the middle of my belly.

"You're a long way from home, Leliana," I said.

She smiled, warm and brilliant. "Call me Leli, if you wish. And I go where the Maker has led me. I had a dream, a vision of a vast darkness engulfing the land. I knew then that the Maker had called me to help fight the Darkspawn."

Alistair glanced at Morrigan. "I thought we were all full up of crazy."

I motioned to the lute now lying on the table. "You're a bard?"

"Yes, but I can fight with bow and dagger. I have traveled many roads, and one picks up a number of skills along the way in such travels, no?" She touched her lute. "Please, let me help you."

I gazed into my bowl, pushing a piece of gristle around with my spoon, waiting for Alistair to say something. He was the senior warden. It should be his decision. But he only ordered another bowl and started wolfing it down. Morrigan watched me, taking small sips of ale. I suppressed a sigh and turned to the bard.

"This vision…what was it like?"

She hesitated a moment and then nodded. "It's difficult to explain. I had a dream…there was darkness all around me…so thick I could feel it. And a noise…a terrible ungodly noise." She gazed off into the distance. "I stood on a high peak and watched as the darkness engulfed everything. When the last of the sun's light was gone…I fell, and the darkness drew me in."

I remembered my own dreams of darkness. "You dreamed of the Blight."

She nodded. "Yes, I believe so. That was what the darkness was, no?" She focused back on me. "There are so many beautiful things in the world. How could I just stand by and let the Blight devour…everything?"

The events at Ostagar would haunt my dreams for a long time.

"Neither can I," I said softly.

"Then you will let me join you?"

I glanced at Sten, who was frowning, but he said nothing. I thought at first it might be at Leli, but perhaps it was only the stew. I turned back to her and held out my hand.

"Yes."

Her warm hands clasped mine. "Oh, thank you. I will not disappoint you."

Alistair gave me a look that seemed to say 'Are you sure about this?' For a moment, I was irritated. The decision had been left to me, and now this _shem_ was questioning it? But then he glanced at her and smiled and poured her another cup of ale.

I leaned back and nibbled on a piece of bread. Someone had to be in charge. Since Alistair didn't seem to be interested, that left it up to me. I felt fear hovering at the edges of my mind. I knew there was a world outside the Alienage, but I had never ventured beyond Denerim. And now, I had to travel the width and length of Ferelden, enforcing treaties with people I'd never met, and leaders and kings, at that. I didn't know anything about politics.

I drained my mug. All that lay in the tomorrows that followed this day. Right now, we needed horses and supplies. I would focus on that and worry about the rest later. At least, despite the bandits and the bounty hunters, things didn't seem to be starting off badly. Only a few days on the road and we had already picked up three companions - four, if you included Tam. We would need far more to fight the Darkspawn. But it was a start, and at least Alistair and I now had a better chance of surviving the journey to call on those named in the treaties we'd recovered. Those soldiers waiting for us in this inn wouldn't be the last who wanted to collect a bounty on Grey Wardens.

As we talked I found out Leli had a wagon and a team of horses. Sten had two horses, one for riding and the other used to carry food and gear. In the few hours of daylight that remained after dinner, we found a farmer willing to sell us a couple of horses and their tack. Leli assured us that the two brown mares were good stock, if somewhat shaggy looking.

"Don't have money to feed 'em," the farmer said, handing her the reins. "Least they won't be wanderin' the Wilds gettin' eaten by Maker knows what."

"We'll take good care of them," Leli said. He nodded and walked away, tucking most of what we had gathered from the bandits into his pocket.

"You should have bargained him down further," Morrigan said to Leli.

"He needed the money. And the Maker will provide."

The witch shrugged and eyed the horses. "I believe I will ride in the wagon."

Alistair smirked. "Don't know how to ride, do you?"

"Oh, yes, you Chantry templars are very good at that, aren't you? Caging things and forcing them to your will."

The blood rose in his cheeks. I stepped between them. Blessed Creators, I hope they weren't going to be using one another for target practice all the time we were together.

"Look, it's been a long day and we should find a place to rest. We need to leave as early as we can in the morning."

"I agree," Sten said.

"Come, I'll show you where I'm camped," Leli said, and led the way


	12. Chapter 12

** Zevran Araini**

I told Master Stefan about the bounty offered by Teyrn Loghain on any Grey Wardens who might have survived the battle at Ostagar. It was quite a sizeable sum, and it was the opinion of many nobles that Loghain was attempting to deflect attention from his withdrawal at Ostagar by claiming that the Wardens had betrayed the king by abandoning him to the Darkspawn. Reactions to that claim were decidedly mixed. Some of the nobles vehemently defended the Wardens, while others sided with the human teyrn. The taverns were rife with rumors and speculation and many unhappy nobles.

"Foolish, foolish man, this Teyrn Loghain," Master Stefan said, leaning against the window frame in his office, which was sparsely furnished except for the large bookcase against one wall, stuffed with maps, geographies, and books of political commentary and Fereldan history. This master, unlike Jepheth, and so many others in my experience, seemed to have an aversion to ostentatious displays of wealth.

"If he were trying to deliberately tear this country apart I don't think he could devise a more effective means. Political divisions usually prove profitable for the Crows, but too much is bad for business."

I wondered why he cared. After all, wasn't that what scavengers did, pick over the bones of the corpses rivalries left behind? Why did it matter who provided the feast?

"What else are the nobles saying, Araini, besides the usual complaints made in such situations?"

"Many of the nobles in the Bannorn are talking about demanding that Loghain step down from the Regency. They've even gone as far as to start gathering forces. The Teyrn's allies are, of course, also gathering troops. There is talk of civil war."

"While the Darkspawn are spreading," he murmured, and then glanced at me.

"There is something else, Master, though to be honest, I don't know how much to trust it, considering the reports of the extensive casualties we've heard." He motioned for me to continue. "There are rumors that some Grey Wardens have survived the battle at Ostagar."

"Were you able to find out where these rumors originated?"

"Only somewhere in the south. There are refugees spreading north, and the rumors came with them."

Master Stefan went back to gazing out his window at the harbor. "If true, then there are witnesses as to what really happened, as far as the supposed treachery of the Wardens is concerned. A prudent man who wishes to secure his position would move to eliminate them." He glanced at me, then back out the window. "I think we might expect some business soon, Araini."

* * *

I dreamed of Rinna that night, of Taliesan smiling as he slit her throat. And of the sound of my voice, mocking her love for me, telling her that even if she truly had loved me, I didn't care. I'd pushed aside those memories for a time, even the dreams, but they came boiling back with all the force I'd used to shove them aside. I hadn't even tried to discover the truth when Taliesan had told me of her 'betrayal.' I might as well have slit her throat myself. Why should I live when she had died?

So when the contract for the elimination of the last two Grey Wardens was posted a few days later, I offered my bid. It was accepted, though in truth I didn't have any competition. No one seemed willing to take on the fabled slayers of Darkspawn, warriors out of legend. But what better way to die than at the hands of a legend?


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Thanks once again to those who've added this to their favorites/alert lists, and taken the time to review. And another ty to brownc0at for the beta thing. Your support means a lot. I was also looking at my stats, the other day (and who among us doesn't :) ) and counted over 33 countries. Wow. From here to Australia, people have tuned in to this story. There's something pretty aweseome about that, to know that someone half-a-world away ( or more) is reading this._

_I'd always wondered how Zevran knew where to set up the ambush for the Wardens. So this chapter was written to cover that, and to develop Master Stefan a bit more. I promise, after this one, our two protaganists will finally meet. In the meantime, enjoy. And, as always, feedback is welcome.  
_

** Master Stefan**

Stefan studied the map of Ferelden spread out on his desk. Since the Wardens had made no effort to disguise themselves or hide the path of their journey across Ferelden, it had been easy to track their whereabouts. A country on the brink of civil war, with an inhuman enemy driving them from their homes, left people hungry, frightened, and desperate. What harm could it do to tell an interested traveler, who offered a few desperately needed sovereigns, where men who were not trying to hide their trail had been, or where they seemed to be traveling?

The house master's finger traced a path of colored dots that led to the Circle Tower on Lake Calenhad. The agent's report detailing the events at the mage tower had run several closely-written pages. The tale had spread far and fast of how the Grey Wardens and their traveling companions had saved the mages in it from the Rite of Annulment. The mages owed the Wardens a great deal.

Killing these two Wardens was foolish, considering what Thedas was facing. But Arl Howe had offered a great deal of money. He might stint his workman, but he was profligate where his own ambition was concerned. And the directive from the Guild Master concerning the priority of contracts for the nobility was quite clear. No delays or excuses were tolerated. The Crows had only one answer, even for a house master who disobeyed. Stefan had long ago come to terms with death, but he had no desire to lose his life a piece at a time to one of the guild enforcers.

A stray summer breeze drifted through the open window of his office, stirring the curtains and carrying the scent of the harbor, a mix of salt, tar, and the tanneries. Stefan's nose wrinkled, and he considered closing the window. But the day was warm, and at least the air was cool off the water. He ignored the stink of curing leather and reached for his tea.

"Enter," he said, at the soft knock on his door.

Misa slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. Small and plain, she was only a servant who scrubbed the floors and emptied the chamber pots. No one, not even Zevran, noticed her. Stefan had always suspected a bit of magic in Misa's ability to blend unseen into any background. But her price for teaching him how to deal with his visions required that he never ask about where she came from or who she really was.

She glided forward to stand at the side of his desk, and removed a small glass scrying stone from her apron pocket. She tapped it, after she placed it over the island in Lake Calenhad where the mage tower was located.

"They still linger there, helping the mages and the templars clean up from the battle that was fought to reclaim the tower. Clever men. Skilled men. Crows should leave them alone."

Stefan grimaced. "With the size of the purse Arl Howe is offering, that's not going to happen. Besides, Zevran and those he's gathered for the hit are probably within a day or so of Lake Calenhad by now. Say what you will about Fereldan roughness, they build good roads"

She tilted her head, her dark eyes glittering. "You won't keep your life, then."

"Ah, have you seen my death, pretty Misa?" He smiled and settled back in his padded chair. He'd never expected to die of old age, but a few more years would have been nice. He'd never been to Tevinter.

She shook her head. "Life goes on, but another path."

"The afterlife beyond the Fade." Though what awaited him there the Maker alone knew.

Misa touched her scrying stone. "This life. You will walk another path."

He shrugged. "For a Crow, there is no other path in this life." The curtain blew in with the breeze. Sunlight touched her hair, and picked out silver that might or might not be there tomorrow.

"Hmm, have I taught you nothing, Master Stefan?" She picked up the stone and held it out to him. He stared at it, then at her. She held it closer. "Take it; you'll have more need of it than I in the coming months and years."

He didn't touch the stone. "You're leaving."

She leaned forward and took his hand, and then turned it over and placed the stone on his palm. Warm it lay there, shimmering in shadow.

"I've taught you all I can about the seeing of visions. The rest is up to you." She folded his fingers over the stone, and then enclosed his hand within both of hers. "Eight years we've shared. The time has come for leaving. You knew it would."

She slipped away but paused at the door and smiled. Some veil fell away from her, and in that moment she looked younger than the first day of spring and older than the last day of winter. Then she opened the door and disappeared, closing it softly behind her.

He gazed at the door for a long moment, and then opened his hand. The flat oval stone was clear as the water in the cave where he'd found her, waiting for him. She'd said she'd seen him in the stone. Curiosity and a half-remembered dream had led him to explore the rocky cave-riddled hills that bordered the Frostback Mountains that hot summer day he'd first met her. In the years that followed, they'd been more intimate than lovers, though she'd never shared his bed. He was going to miss her.

The stone warmed against his palm, and he let his mind drift into it. Past, present, and future lay before him. He couldn't control where the vision took him, only follow. But do even that too closely, or try to force the direction, and the seeing would flee from him.

A narrow rocky ravine revealed itself. Grass slick with blood and bodies scattered across it, hacked and arrow pierced. Within the carnage, Zevran sprawled, his eyes closed, but no blood pooled around him, and his chest rose and fell. A shadow edged across his face, and Stefan 'leaned in', trying to see who cast it. Then the vision trembled and rippled away, and he saw only sunlight shimmering within the stone.

He rubbed his eyes, a headache gathering in the center of his forehead. Was it the present he'd just seen? Or the near future? And did it matter, he thought, tucking the stone into the inner pocket of his black leather vest. Either way meant Zevran had failed. Either way meant he was dead or soon would be, killed by one of the Wardens or a Crow enforcer sent by the Guild Master for failing his contract. Except….except for the vision where Stefan had seen the elven assassin fighting while an Archdemon bellowed above him on the heights. Visions did not contradict one another. But neither were they set in stone. Even if they were, Misa's first lesson had been that stone could be broken.

Stefan rose and took up his favorite spot against the window frame, where he could watch the ships sailing in the harbor. The Crow master didn't waste time speculating on whether he would have given the contract to Zevran if others had bid. They hadn't. While it was sometimes useful to speculate on the future, re-inventing the past was pointless. It was what it was. Only its bearing on the present held any meaning.

Zevran Araini might survive, it seemed. And a seer's instincts told Stefan that his life was connected to that. How, he wouldn't be able to read in any vision of his. Misa might have told him, but she was gone, slipping out of his life like a shadow before the sun. It didn't matter. Sooner or later, Stefan knew, he would catch up with whatever future waited for him.


	14. Chapter 14

_First, many thanks to those of you who've added this to their favorites/alerts list and given reviews. Your feedback is welcome. As our favorite Crow says, 'It's nice to know one's efforts are appreciated.' And another thank you to brownc0at for being my beta. _

_Yes, they finally meet in this chapter. I debated for a while on whose point of view to tell this from and settled on Zevran's. For one thing, I wanted to dig into his thoughts while he was being questioned. Zevran's dialogue in the game scene is very telling about his character, so I didn't really change it very much. But I hope the narrative gives some insight into his reasons and motivations, and his first impressions of the Warden. Enjoy and please feel free to review._

**Zevran Araini**

I watched from behind a fallen wagon as Rusha guided the Grey Wardens and their companions to the ambush. Master Stefan's reports had been quite thorough, and it had been easy to find out where they were headed after finishing up at the Circle Tower.

Darrian was in the lead, the others fanned out behind him. I'd known he was an elf, of course, and that he had some skill with the blades strapped to his hips. He had survived Ostagar, after all. He was younger than I expected…and handsome. Sleek and lithe, he moved like a cat, wary and graceful. It seemed a pity to destroy such beauty.

I stepped out from behind a fallen wagon and Rusha came up to me, smiling.

"Not very bright, this mark. He swallowed the tale easily," she whispered.

I glanced past her, and saw his hands moving towards his weapons, his eyes narrowing as he studied me and his body shifting forward. I raised my hand to signal the others. At the sound of the axe chopping through the rope that held up the tree, the Warden twisted around and then dived, rolling away from the tree as it came crashing down behind the party to block their retreat. He'd never even glanced back, just reacted.

I drew my blades. "The Grey Wardens die here," I shouted, as the rest scrambled into position.

In the first minutes of the ambush, it seemed I would prevail. There were a dozen of us, and we had the high ground, a skilled mage and more than a dozen traps scattered and hidden throughout the site. The qunari was taken down first, not killed but knocked out. I went for Darrian, but the other Warden kept getting in my way. Twisting and blocking my approach with that damned shield of his. Impossible to flank that man, wo was quick and agile, for all that he had clomped about following behind my Warden when they'd first approached. He rammed his shield into my chest, and I folded like a fall of silk off a draper's table and blacked out.

* * *

When I came to, I found myself slung, belly side down, over a saddle. My arms and legs were tightly bound, and someone had stuffed a gag into my mouth. I grunted as the gait of the horse jarred my bruised belly. Maker, that shield had hurt. I twisted my head up and Darrian, leading the horse, glanced back at me. There were just the two of us. I wondered where the others were.

"I see you're awake. Good; when we get to camp, you can answer some questions."

He had a pleasant voice, like rough silver, smooth but with a smoky undertone that sent a shiver through my loins. I hadn't expected that. I hadn't expected to be lugged like a sack of grain, either, to some other place to be questioned. The usual procedure was to kick someone awake, and then pry out what information you could before slitting their throat.

I hoped camp wasn't very far. Hanging over the side of a horse is a very undignified position, not to mention all the blood rushing to my head and making it pound.

We veered off the road about a half-league from the ambush. He followed a narrow game trail through the trees for about a hundred yards to a small clearing beside a rocky stream. When the horse stopped, someone grabbed me from behind and dumped me onto the ground. I winced as a stone jabbed into my thigh, and then my Warden pulled off the gag. I spent a minute spitting out bits of thread and something that tasted like unwashed socks. Maker, I hoped it wasn't an unwashed sock that they had used.

I sat up, and looked up into the dark Grey eyes of my Warden. Deep as a well, and shimmering, but also full of shadows. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet, holding a long sword pointed directly at my throat.

The qunari stood behind him, holding a broad two-handed blade and looking no worse for having been rendered unconscious. Hard to read, that one. Not the other Warden; the desire for my life was plain in his face. What was his name from the report? Ah, yes…Alistair. Behind him, stood a woman wearing a mage's robes, and while she was no longer young, she had grace and strength. Next to her, a red-haired woman, pretty as a flower, carried a bow. And beyond them all, standing near a small fire, was a woman of dark beauty and deadly grace, a rare combination. She didn't wear a mage's robes, but I'd seen her tossing fireballs and ice lances around. The one who seemed to hold my life in his hands, though, was the man standing over me. The others all watched him, waiting.

My blood wasn't soaking into the ground and ruining my fine Antivan leather armor because he wanted answers.

"Well, since you have questions, I'll get right to the point. My name is Zevran Araini. And I am a member of the Antivan Crows, contracted for the sole purpose of slaying the remaining Grey Wardens, which I have failed at, sadly." Or perhaps, not so sadly, I thought, as I gazed up into those beautiful dark Grey eyes.

He frowned. "The Crows?"

Alistair grimaced, and though he said nothing, I suspected he had heard of us.

"An order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful. And very expensive. Someone went to a lot of trouble to hire him," the red-headed woman said. From her accent, she was Orlesian. And from the lute strap slung across her shoulder, a bard, as well. Not surprising then, that she knew about the Crows.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous." I emphasized the last word ever so slightly. If my Warden noticed, he gave no sign.

The sword tip touched my throat and it took some effort not to swallow. His face showed little.

"So, someone wanted us dead badly enough to hire an assassin."

"But who would do that?" Alistair said, his brow furrowed.

My Warden's grey eyes darkened, like storm clouds over the sea. "Who betrayed the Wardens at Ostagar? Who set a bounty on any surviving Wardens?"

Alistair's hand tightened on his sword, and it shifted in his grip, coming to rest in my direction, unfortunately.

"Loghain." He said the name as if it were a curse.

"Well?" Darrian asked me.

"The rather taciturn fellow in the capital? Yes, it was him."

Darrian frowned and shifted his weight further onto the balls of his feet. "When were you to meet him next?"

"I wasn't. I was to return home and the Crows would have informed him, assuming of course, that he didn't already know about it. And if I had failed, I would be dead."

"_If_ you had failed?"

I chuckled. "What can I say? I'm an eternal optimist. Although, the chances of succeeding now seem rather slim, don't they?" I laughed and he looked at me as though I was mad. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

Why did I banter like this? Were old habits that hard to shake? I had sought death. But now, with death hovering just above my throat, I found myself wanting to live. There was something in those grey eyes, a fierce brightness that reminded me of Rinna. The memory hurt and beckoned at the same time. The stones around my heart shifted, just a little.

Alistair's sword kept moving in his hand. I kept my eyes on my Warden's. He was a hard one to read for one so young.

"How much did they pay you?"

"I was not paid anything. The Crows, however, received quite a large sum."

No need to mention that most of my payment came after the deed was done. Though considering how many have met death at my hands, I should be quite a wealthy man, not poor as a Chantry mouse. And here I was, in a cold grey land, with only my wits between me and death, and barely two copper coins left to rub together after I'd recruited the other assassins, who were now dead. At least, I assumed they were, since I was the only one in the camp. A pity, since some of them had showed promise, but they'd come knowing there was a chance they wouldn't survive this.

"And your loyalty to Loghain?" Darrian asked.

I almost laughed at his naiveté. But with a sword hovering just above my throat, I decided that a more prudent response would ensure my life continued. Though, why that seemed desirable at the moment, I wasn't quite sure.

"I assume his issues with you are the usual. You threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, I have no loyalty to him."

The dark-haired woman frowned and folded her arms. Though she'd fought by his side, she stood a little apart from the others. Maybe she was just ensuring she had a clean line of sight. I certainly would.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Darrian asked.

I chuckled again. So innocent, this one. So unwise in the ways of the world, despite his skill with a blade. Well, at least a steel one, as far as I knew.

"Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

"So, you have no loyalty to your employers?"

I cocked my head. He was going somewhere with these questions, though I couldn't quite see the point of them. I was rather surprised I was still breathing. Not an impulsive man, this Warden. Also unusual in one so young. Perhaps I would yet see another sunrise. I threw the dice.

"Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, perhaps we could discuss it?"

"I'm listening."

I tossed the dice again, and then danced in the shadows between truth and fiction.

"Well, I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. If you don't kill me, then the Crows will, as gruesomely as possible. Thing is, I like living. And you…are the sort to give the Crows pause. So, let me serve you, instead."

He stared down at me. The qunari shifted on his feet, and Alistair's eyes widened. Clearly, none of them had been expecting my reply.

Guild rules were quite clear about the penalties for failing a contract. Master Stefan wasn't like most masters. But he certainly wasn't going to risk his life for mine. Besides, there was, at the moment, a very sharp sword, held by a very skilled man, pointed at my throat. Though, if he decided against me, it seemed that my death would be a clean one, at least.

"What's to keep you from finishing the job later?" Darrian asked.

It wasn't a surprising question. He was naïve, but not stupid. And he seemed… a more reasonable man than the Crows.

"To be completely honest, I never had much choice in joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. As I said before, even if I did kill you, they might kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly…I'd rather take my chances with you." And there was nothing of fiction in what I'd just said.

"Won't they come after you?"

It seemed he wasn't yet done with his questions. Briefly, in the back of my mind, I wondered if he made love the same way. Long and tortuous. Ah, a sweet thought, and one worth pursuing if things worked out.

"Possibly, but I can protect myself, as well as you. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?"

"If I do decide to…accept your service, can I expect the same kind of loyalty you showed Loghain?"

To be honest, I was a little miffed by the question. Hadn't we already discussed this?

"I happen to be a very loyal person, up until the point someone expects me to die for failing. That's not a fault, is it?" I glanced at the others. "I mean, unless you're the sort who would do the same thing. In which case I…don't come very well recommended, I suppose."

His sword dipped lower, pointing towards the ground now instead of at my throat.

"What do you want in return?"

Hmm, perhaps he was not as naïve as I thought. And the way he asked the question told me he had already decided, even if the others seemed unaware of that.

"Well, being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me somewhat more useful to you. And somewhere down the line, if you should decide that you no longer need me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?" It certainly seemed so to me.

He slipped his sword back into its sheath. "All right, I accept."

"What? Are you out of your mind? Does this really seem like a good idea?" Alistair asked, his hand tightening on his hilt.

Darrian glanced at the others around him and then smiled. "Well, we are a rather mixed group, aren't we? Besides, we need every blade we can get."

Alistair frowned and folded his arms. "That's true…but… Oh, well, I suppose you know best."

Ah, so my Warden was capable of smiling. Good to know. Humor, more than seduction sometimes, is an effective weapon in disarming an opponent.

"Oh, this is a fine plan," the dark haired woman said and rolled those beautiful tawny eyes of hers. "I'd advise watching your food and drink from now on."

"A good idea in any case," I said, as Darrian drew his dagger and sliced through the ropes around my wrists and ankles, then helped me to my feet. He was stronger than he looked, with fine fingered hands. Warm hands, which sent a tingle under my skin that lingered even after he released me.

"I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you," I said, facing him. "Until such time as you release me, I am your man, without reservation. This I swear."

Now, all I had to do was make sure he never had a reason for releasing me from my oath.


	15. Chapter 15

** Darrian Tabris**

I tried not to be obvious as I watched Zevran, who was sitting on the ground and eating dinner across the small fire from me. Morrigan was down by her tent, set apart from the others, as always, and Wynne was resting, her eyes closed in meditation. Sten kept watch at the edge of camp, staring out over the broad early summer fields. Leli played her lute, softly singing in Orlesian. Even Tam sat still, listening to her, his head resting on his paws. His eyes closed, and he drifted off to sleep.

I finished my own stew, then rose and set the bowl in the stack resting on a rock. Alistair sat nearby, not hiding his scrutiny of the Antivan assassin as he ate. If Zevran was aware of it – and I didn't see how he couldn't be – he gave no sign. He ate slowly, with small bites. Every move he made was careful and measured, never a wasted motion. I wondered if that was the result of his training, or something intrinsic to his nature. Perhaps it was some of both.

"I still don't like this," Alistair said as I came up. "We're all going to wake up dead one morning."

"It's been over a week." I glanced around. "And we all still seem to be in one piece."

Alistair grumbled something, and then polished off the rest of his stew. It was his turn to clean up after dinner.

Zevran rose and sauntered over. He never simply walked anywhere. He flashed me a smile and winked at Alistair before depositing his bowl and sauntering back to his place by the fire.

"I swear, he does that one more time and I'm going to…to…" Alistair muttered, rising and grabbing up the bowls.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Zevran's smirk. He seemed to enjoy teasing…or perhaps, testing the former templar. And he flirted shamelessly with Morrigan and Leliana. The Orlesian was more congenial in her refusal. Morrigan…well, I knew from personal experience how sharp her tongue was. It didn't seem to faze Zevran in the least. He blithely plowed on, as though she had whispered sweet encouraging words and not scathing retorts.

He flirted with me, too. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Restless, and not trusting myself to keep from staring at him like some moon-struck youngling, I picked up a towel and followed Alistair to the stream.

He scrubbed the bowls hard enough to send water and soap flying in all directions.

"He means no harm," I said.

Alistair glared at me. "He's an assassin. Everything about him is… about harm." Then he sighed and settled back on his heels. "You're probably right. But his constant…flirting is getting on my nerves." He glanced back at the camp. "He even does it with Wynne. And she's old enough to be his grandmother." He turned back to the bowls. "Maybe we should let the Crows have him."

"He was a slave. He had no choice." The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "And if we do, he'll die."

"Assuming he's telling us the truth about that."

"Even if he isn't, he hasn't tried anything since he's joined us." I picked up a bowl, dried it off and set it aside before reaching for another. "And does it matter if he just wants to get away from them? We need every blade we can get."

Alistair may fumble about for words sometimes, but he's not stupid, whatever Morrigan's caustic remarks about his intelligence. And he has a good heart, even if he does put it out there for everyone to see. He's one of the few humans I respect and one I would trust with my life.

He frowned at the last dirty bowl in his hand. "I suppose he can warn us if they try again."

My people aren't slaves anymore. But after seeing the world outside the Denerim Alienage, even after being conscripted into a war I didn't choose to fight - not at first, at least - I sometimes wonder just how far the Alienage is from slavery. We're not welcome outside it, unless it's as some human's servant or lackey.

I picked up a bowl and dried it, then set it aside and reached for another. We finished the chore in silence. As I turned to head back to camp, Alistair laid a hand on my arm.

"Look, maybe you're right. But he was raised by assassins. That kind of breeding, being raised outside a family, leaves a mark on you. I know that…from experience."

"Maybe that's why he flirts so much," I murmured.

"What's that's supposed to mean?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. But I promise I'll be careful."

"You'd better be," Alistair said, punching me lightly on the arm. "I'm the one that will have to clean up the mess if you're wrong. And you know how I hate cleaning after all that time I spent in the chantry kitchen scrubbing pots."

I smiled and picked up the bowls. After putting them away, I wandered over to Zevran. He looked up with a lazy smile. He always seemed to be smiling. Something that seemed like it would annoy people after a while. But despite his profession, he had an easy nature, so it didn't.

"I'd like to ask you something," I said, gazing down at him.

"Oh? This should be interesting," he said, then rose and followed me to the log beside which I'd set up my tent. It was well within sight of the others, but far enough away that if we talked quietly, no one would overhear.

The early evening sun picked gold highlights out of his hair, gave his skin a tawny, silky look that stirred feelings and desires in me no woman ever had. I fumbled around in my mind for a question. I'd deliberately kept my distance this past week while we traveled to Redcliffe. Not speaking beyond the necessities of travel. Not trusting what might come out of my mouth.

I wanted to ask him about his profession, about his life, about what it had been like to grow up a slave in a guild that trained people to kill one another for profit. I wasn't sure if I wanted those answers just yet, though...

"Tell me about Antiva." A safe topic, and I was curious about his home.

His eyes widened slightly, as if I'd surprised him, then his smile deepened and took on a wistful look that quickly disappeared.

"It's always warm, my Antiva. Ferelden always seems cold, even though it's summer here." He gazed down at his hands, resting on his thighs. "I was born in Antiva City, a seaport like Denerim." He glanced up at me and his smile deepened. "At mid-day, it glitters like a jewel in the sun. And in the evening, it glows warm and golden. There is a saying… 'It rains often, but the flowers always bloom.'" He raised a hand and let it fall.

I caught a note of longing in his voice. "It sounds like you've been gone a long time."

He sighed. "Not so long. Not that it matters, since I can't go back. Not yet, anyway."

"It will always be there, though."

He looked at me from the side, his face soft in the evening sun. Perhaps it was artifice, to keep me off guard, lull me into trusting him. I wanted to believe that look was real.

"Yes, and that is a comfort." His usual smile returned. "And you, do you hail from someplace as fair?"

I smiled. "Yes, my mother."

He laughed. "Ah, you have me there. As for mine, I never laid eyes on the woman."

"You never knew your mother?"

"My mother was an Antivan whore," he said with a shrug.

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I focused on the thick grass between my boots, my hands resting on the log beside my legs. Life in the Alienage was hard, sometimes cruel. But there was always family there, always kin you could call on. I couldn't imagine growing up without them around me.

"You're… a long way from home."

"Yes, but it seems to have had its compensations." I looked up. He leaned closer, his eyes going hooded and lazy. My heart skipped. "After all, I ended up the prisoner of the one I was sent to slay…a handsome Grey Warden. A tale for the bards, yes?"

I swallowed. "Handsome?"

"Ah, a poor choice of words, perhaps. I did not mean to offend."

I felt the heat rising in my ear tips. "I'm not offended. It was just… unexpected."

"But not unwelcome?" he said very softly.

"No," I whispered.

His laugh was a soft rumble in the back of his throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

I shifted to my feet. "It's getting late. And I'm very tired. So…I'll bid you good night."

"Hmm, and what is it that makes a night good, my Warden, if there is no one to share it with?"

I didn't answer, just hurried to my tent and ducked inside before anyone could see my discomfort. The blood was rising in places other than my cheeks. I rested my head on my knees a moment, pulling in deep breaths. Smiles and winks and brief innuendo had yielded to something more direct, almost an invitation. Something that stirred my blood with possibilities.

I heard a whuffing outside and then Tam poked his broad muzzle through the opening. I moved over to make space for him, and he settled in beside me, pushing against my hip.

"What am I going to do, Tam?" I asked, and he cocked his head at me. "About Zevran?"

He looked in the direction of the log, then back at me.

"He's trying to seduce me. Probably because he thinks he needs to, to ensure his survival." I sighed and slipped an arm around the mabari's broad shoulders. "Creators help me, I want it to be real. But how can it be?"

Tam made a sound halfway between a whine and a growl that sounded oddly reassuring. He pressed closer against me, offering comfort. Which was what I wanted at the moment. I couldn't exactly talk about this with any of the others. I was closest to Alistair, but talking about sex made him blush and fumble for words, usually ones that involved changing the subject. Wynne liked to offer advice, and while I appreciated her wisdom, I wasn't in the mood for a lecture at the moment.

Except for Sten, and he was still a mystery to me, the others were human, with the typical human notions of what was proper in the bedroom. Or so I assumed. Since we'd never talked about it Though, in fairness, I suppose elves aren't that different from humans. We'd lived under the thumb of human overlords for centuries and many of the guidelines by which we lived, even most of our religious beliefs, were borrowed from them.

I heard Morrigan then, her voice sharp and direct, saying something about manure. Blessed Creators, Zevran must be at it again. The man was incorrigible. I smiled in spite of myself. Flirting was probably just a game for him, something to occupy his time.

It wasn't for me, though. I was strongly attracted to him, and not just because of his physical charms. There were layers cloaked by his shallow easy words and gestures. And I wanted to know what lay beneath them.

One morning, a few days after he'd joined us, I'd woken just at sunrise and spied him at the far edge of camp, practicing with his blades. I slipped up and watched, unseen, from behind a tree. I remembered the lessons my mother had drilled into me, the countless hours of practice. Skill at anything requires discipline and focus. Zevran had that, or he wouldn't be here when everyone else, except for Wynne keeping watch, was still asleep in their tents. When he finished, his sides heaving, he'd gazed towards the north, the direction of his homeland, an odd mix of pain and longing in his face. I slipped away before he could spot me.

And last night, coming back from my turn at watch, I saw him sleeping in his tent, the flap pulled back to let in whatever breeze stirred in the warm summer night. He shifted restlessly in his sleep, muttering something in Antivan as I eased up. His face contracted, as if in pain, then settled as he drifted deeper into sleep, leaving whatever dream he'd been in behind.

I wondered what he'd been dreaming of as I pulled off my shirt and lay back, Tam stretched out beside me. Had it been of home? Something from his childhood? Or something closer in time?

I sighed and rolled to my side. I had enough to contend with in my own dreams. Maybe I would be lucky and dreams of the Blight and the Darkspawn would leave me alone this night.


	16. Chapter 16

_Many thanks to those of you who've added this to your favorites/alerts list and taken the time to review. Your comments and support are much appreciated. And another thanks to brownc0at for being my Beta._

_Zevran's given his oath to the Warden and has now spent a week or so with this mixed group. He's noticed a few things about the man he's just pledged himself to, things he hasn't quite expected. _

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* * *

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**Zevran Araini **

I wasn't surprised that my Warden had stripped the bodies of the dead assassins of anything of value after the failed ambush. Any victor would have done the same. I had not expected that he would ask Morrigan to cremate them, or that a former lay sister would chant a funeral prayer over the ashes as they scattered on the wind. It was far more than the Crows would have done. Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised by that small mercy; he had spared my life when prudence dictated my death, after all.

We exchanged few words that first week. But, ah, the glances he gave me when he thought I wasn't aware of them. Of course, the others, particularly Alistair, turned eyes in my direction every time I moved. But while they were only making sure I wasn't getting ready to slide a dagger between someone's ribs, or slip a vial of poison into whatever passed for dinner, my Warden's looks held all the hidden heat of leashed desire - a resonance I felt in my own flesh. I had few opportunities to pursue it, though, since he made a point of avoiding my close company. No matter. Crow training might be harsh, but it had taught me patience.

I had to be careful, of course. This wasn't Antiva, where the dance of words was only a short prelude to fulfilled passion. He may have been interested in me as a potential bed partner, but he was still Fereldan, which meant the dance could last for weeks or months. Then again, I did enjoy a challenge.

He began the dance about a week after I'd joined their little band by asking me about my home. It seemed an odd topic with which to open a conversation with someone who'd tried to kill you just a few days before, even if it was only business. I had expected him to ask me about the Crows or the contract that had been taken out on him and his fellow Warden.

Though I wondered why he wanted to know about Antiva and why he seemed concerned that I was far from it, it did give me an opening to…hmmm, I suppose 'explore the possibilities between us' is the best way to say it. And yes, there was definitely interest there, though his ear tips turned pink as roses when the topic shifted close to bed matters. A very pretty shade of pink, too, I might add. He disappeared rather abruptly, then.

I lingered in my seat a few minutes, long enough to see his Mabari nose his way into his tent. Then I returned to the campfire, thinking over various avenues of approach to him. Assassins aside, people were less inclined to kill their bed partners out of hand. Given his blush, he was probably untutored in the ways of love, which made seduction easier and harder at the same time. I smiled as I settled near the fire to listen to Leliana play. When is life ever what we expect or hope for, hmmm?

Alistair frowned when I winked at him, then pulled out his sword and made a great show of inspecting the blade. I could take a hint, especially one as blatant as that. Not that the ex-templar seemed to have a particularly subtle turn of mind.

I leaned back against a boulder and watched the fire, while the bard's music drifted up with the smoke to the stars that were coming out in the evening sky.

* * *

Two weeks after I pledged service to my Warden, we arrived in Redcliffe. I smelled it before it came into sight, fish guts and rotting vegetation and something else, a dark oily under-smell I didn't recognize. Darrian noticed it; I could tell from the way his nose twitched. The humans and the qunari seemed unaware of it.

Two things always remind me of home; the smell of curing leather and the stink of fish guts. It was probably too much to hope that whatever passed for an inn here served a decent fish chowder. But after almost three weeks on the road, I was looking forward to not inspecting my boots for whatever had crawled into them during the night.

The town had that rough thrown together look I'd seen in Denerim, as though some giant had dropped houses by the handful onto the hillsides and then shoved them to one side. We followed the dirt road to the far end of the town where it ended at a collection of rickety docks.

A human with a worn scabbard hanging from his belt, who seemed to be supervising the archers practicing in the small market square, scowled at us as we led our horses to the posts in front of the chantry and then tied them up.

"Are you here to help?" he said, coming over. "Has word of our plight finally reached someone?"

"Plight?" Alistair said.

The human nodded in the direction of the castle across the near curve of the lake. "For the last several nights we've been attacked by…monsters. And there's been no word from the castle for even longer." He glanced at the villagers, who seemed to be missing their targets more often than hitting them. "No army, no Arl, no king to protect us…We won't last much longer. Bann Teagan is all that's holding us together." He frowned in thought for a moment. "He'll want to see you. Come, I'll take you to him. He's in the Chantry."

Morrigan rolled her eyes – she was always doing that- and Sten frowned, but they followed along behind Darrian as he trailed the human into the chantry. I kept to Darrian's left, one hand resting near my dagger, always laced with a quick-paralyzing poison. It never hurts to be prepared.

Bann Teagan turned from his conversation with a Chantry templar. Ah, I recognized him as the dissenting noble who had spoken up at Loghain's speech. And now, his brother's holding was plagued by trouble. Why was this not surprising?

The bann's eyes scanned us and his gaze settled on someone behind me.

"By the Maker, I'm glad to see you, Alistair!" Bann Teagan strode past me. "Loghain had me believing you were dead, killed with all the other Grey Wardens at Ostagar." He reached out with both hands to clasp Alistair's arm, his eyes bright and warm.

"Not all," Alistair said and nodded at Darrian.

Bann Teagan glanced at him. "I'm glad two of you survived, at least."

"You don't believe what Loghain said about the Wardens?" Darrian asked.

"What? That Cailan risked everything for glory? That the Wardens betrayed him? That Loghain pulled his men to protect them? Hardly." He released Alistair's hand. "My nephew had his faults, but stupidity was not among them. He wouldn't risk his life merely for glory, despite what Loghain thought."

Fereldan politics resembled Antivan more and more. Perhaps it would not be as difficult to secure a living here as I had originally thought. Assuming, of course, that I survived the coming battle against the Darkspawn.

"We came here to see Arl Eamon about securing aid against the Blight," Darrian said.

"That may be a problem. My brother fell gravely ill almost a week ago, and there's been no word from the castle for days. No guards patrol the walls. No one answers my shouts." Bann Teagan's voice dropped. "And for the last few nights…things… have been emerging from the castle and attacking the village. Many have died."

"Things?" Darrian asked.

"Walking dead. Corpses with a hunger for human flesh. Each night their numbers are greater. I don't think we'll be able to survive another night. We tried to evacuate the village, but they attacked in the daytime, slaughtering those who tried to flee." He glanced at Alistair. "I could use your help. Isolde has sent most of the knights off on a mad quest to find Andraste's ashes to cure Eamon." He shook his head. "Scattered on the road, across half of Ferelden, there's no way I can bring them back in time, even if I knew for certain where they were."

"What can we do to help?" Darrian said as soon as Bann Teagan stopped speaking.

Sten frowned. "Why embark on a fool's errand? We waste time here when other villages are falling to the Darkspawn."

"This is pointless," Morrigan said. "And an impossible battle. We have enough to contend with elsewhere."

My Warden's jaw tightened but his voice was controlled, perhaps a little too controlled. "No battle is impossible. And we need allies. We won't gain them by abandoning those who ask for our help."

Morrigan rolled her eyes but said nothing more. Sten frowned, but the others, judging by their faces, seemed to approve. As for my opinion, well, I thought his first statement naïve, but he was certainly right about the need for allies. From the discussions I'd heard between Darrian and Alistair over dinner this past week, Arl Eamon was a powerful noble with a great deal of influence. His voice would sway others to lend aid to the two Wardens trying to build an army.

Bann Teagan then directed us to Ser Perth, who was in charge of the few remaining knights from the castle who were in the village. Those, and a handful of Chantry templars were all that lay between the village and destruction. Well, those and us. But after the way my Warden and his companions had defeated me and the other assassins I had contacted for the contract from Loghain, I thought we had a good chance of surviving this night.

After talking to Ser Perth and the head of the templars to discuss strategy for the coming battle, there was nothing to do but wait for nightfall. We headed back to the inn perched at the top of a steep hill, probably to insure the thirst of those who patronized it.

Inside it was dark, smelling of beer and fried fish. I sighed. No fish chowder here, for all it was next to a lake. A group of humans sat huddled on the side, complaining of the price of beer. And when do men not complain of an innkeeper's prices, yes?

The others settled at tables and a pretty barmaid hurried over. Darrian lingered near the door, eyeing a dark-haired elf sitting alone in a corner - not a very wise position. He had a view of the front door, but only one open route to it. A fine sword hung from his hip, and a short-bow was laid on the bench beside him. He kept glancing around him and shifting in his seat. I've done enough spying in my career to recognize an amateur's nervousness. Apparently, my Warden noticed it as well, since he paused nearby, and then motioned to the pretty barmaid.

"What do you know about that elf?"

She shook her head. "Not much. He's a stranger. Name's Berwick. A bit creepy, if you ask me. Claims he's here to meet his brother. But I think he's lying." She leaned closer and I got a good look at her bosom. And a fine one it was. "Been here several days and no brother. Now, I've got work to do."

And several days ago, creatures had begun attacking the village and the Arl had become…indisposed. My Warden glanced at me then at the elf. I hid a smile. Poor Rusha, how wrong she had been about his lack of cleverness.

The barmaid hurried away and my Warden strolled over to Berwick.

"Hello, friend."

Berwick glanced up, his fingers drumming against the side of his mug. He glanced at the door, then back at us. "I prefer to be left alone."

Darrian eased closer, shifting his weight forward, onto the balls of his feet. "I just wasn't expecting to see a fellow elf here."

Berwick turned in his seat, fidgeting. "And that's all we have in common. That doesn't mean we should be friends. I'm only supposed to…" He flushed and fumbled with his drink. "I mean, just leave me alone."

Yes, definitely an amateur. I eased closer, flanking my Warden and blocking Berwick's one path to the door.

"Only supposed to what?" Darrian asked.

"Nothing," Berwick said, a little too quickly. "Just because you're a Warden…"

Darrian leaned on his hands on the table, those beautiful grey eyes only inches from Berwick's dark ones.

"And how do you know I'm a Warden?" he said very softly, very dangerously.

"I…uh, just overheard it. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to get to the chantry before sundown."

"No, I think you're going to answer some questions first."

Berwick paled and glanced at me. I threw him a knife-edged smile and fingered the hilt of my dagger. The promise of pain can be quite effective, even if one has no intention of inflicting it. Berwick swallowed.

"Look, I was just paid to watch the castle. And report what I observed. That's all."

"And just how long have you been watching the castle?"

"Five days."

Darrian glanced at me. My smile deepened.

"That's hardly a coincidence," I said. Ah, political intrigue. It smells the same everywhere.

"Nothing else?" Darrian asked.

"Nothing, I swear." His eyes flicked between us. "It was for the good of the realm, I was told. Look, I just wanted to earn some coin. I thought I was helping. And since the attacks started, I haven't been able to get another report out. Just when the Arl fell ill."

"Who hired you?"

"I never saw his face. And before you ask, I don't know who he worked for. It was all done in shadows, in a back alley."

"Well, at least someone showed some professionalism," I commented.

Darrian straightened. "All right, but if you really want to help, go help the villagers with their defense. Do that, and I'll forget I saw you."

Berwick grabbed his bow. "Thank you. I will…thank you."

We moved out of the way, and he scurried out the door. The others were eating by this time and we joined them at their table.

"What was that all about?" Alistair said around a mouthful of fried fish. Darrian told him.

"You think Loghain could be behind this?" Alistair said.

Darrian glanced at me. "The timing is too close to be a coincidence. And if the Arl is anything like his brother in his sympathy for the Grey Wardens…that wouldn't be in his favor, would it?"

"Hmm, not to mention that a time of civil unrest is the perfect time to eliminate rivals and seize power," I added, reaching for the pitcher of ale in front of me. I told them about that little exchange between Bann Teagan and Loghain.

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "How would you know about that? Were you lurking in the shadows or something?"

I chuckled. "Of course, my dear ex-templar. You think I spent all my time in Denerim bedding pretty bar maids?"

He flushed and grabbed up his mug.

Wynne shook her head. "Madness. To stir up such quarrels…with a Blight coming. We need to stand together, not squabble over scraps like dogs."

The Mabari whined at that point. My Warden scratched him behind an ear and the dog settled at his feet.

"That's what Duncan believed ," Alistair said, his voice sounding tight.

"Are you not done moping yet?" Morrigan commented.

Alistair slammed his mug on the table, and bit of froth flew across his plate. "Have you never lost anyone close to you? Is my grief so hard for you to understand? Oh, wait, you don't have any friends… do you?"

"She has us," my Warden said quietly. They both turned to him in surprise, though, to be honest, I'm not sure who was more startled… the former templar or the beautiful Witch of the Wilds.

"Oh, well…maybe…" Alistair mumbled. Morrigan's eyes went hooded and dark. She was silent for the rest of what passed for dinner. I was somewhat disappointed, for I did enjoy her jabs. Especially at the ex-templar - he had a knack for stirring up some of her more creative comments.

Darrian sat across from me during dinner, so it was easy to observe him without looking like I was watching. Friendship, like love, is a dicey proposition among assassins. Getting close to someone you might have to kill one day is never a good idea, something I was still too painfully aware of. Though, I now seemed to be in the unenviable position of feeling closer to someone I had been contracted to kill. A curious reversal of fortune, yes?

But after a few weeks in his company, I was beginning to understand something of his nature. Compassion and strength are a rare and powerful combination, and a dangerous one in the right person. Loghain had really known nothing of Darrian when he had agreed to Arl Howe's proposition. As far as Loghain was concerned, he'd only been 'cleaning up' after the battle at Ostagar.

If I were Loghain, and knew what I now knew about this Warden, I'd be worried. Very worried.

* * *

_Reviews are welcome. Comment/feedback helps grow a better writer._


	17. Chapter 17

**Darrian Tabris**

The last thing we needed at this point was Morrigan and Alistair at each other's throats. They were flint and steel, never coming together without sparks flying. I suppose that was to be expected since Alistair had spent much of his childhood in the Chantry and Morrigan was an apostate; a mage outside the Circle. Alistair would have made a poor templar, though. He made comments about Morrigan's 'apostasy' but I found it hard to imagine him taking a sword to her throat or any other 'illegal' mage, for that matter.

One night, not too long after we had cleared out the abominations that had overtaken the circle tower, he had told me of a mage who had to be killed when a demon had taken possession of her during her Harrowing, a ritual I still didn't understand the need for. He hadn't wielded the killing blow, which he assured me had been quick and clean, but I remembered the shudder in his voice and the haunted look in his eyes.

Alistair and Morrigan now stood apart at the edge of the village, where a line of lamp oil barrels, which we had discovered in a dusty storage shed behind the general store formed a rough barricade across the road that wound up to the castle. Both were wary and alert, not looking at one another, but I knew they would watch each other's backs. Morrigan might slight Alistair's intelligence, but she never maligned his fighting skills.

I took a quick survey of the militia from the village stationed around us. My blades were coated with a poison I hoped would at least slow down whatever was coming for us. I knew that 'Tears of the Night' worked against humans, slowing their reflexes but I had no idea what it would do to the walking dead.

Zevran eyed the barrels. "You realize, my dear Warden, that if this works, we are going to be dealing with flaming undead?" He chuckled at some joke I didn't understand.

"Is that Antivan humor?" I asked.

"Oh, we are very humorous, we Antivans. Among…other things," he added suggestively.

I shook my head. Here we were at the edge of a battle where we all might die, and he still flirted. He winked at me then strung his bow and set his quiver beside him, within easy reach. Night was upon us and it seemed only a matter of minutes before a hoarse voice shouted that the 'monsters' were coming from the castle.

I lose all sense of time in battle. There is only the rise and fall of my blades or the snapping of the bow string. At this battle, I stood shoulder to shoulder with Zevran, my bow in my hands. I already had an arrow nocked.

They lumbered down the narrow valley road, moving faster than I expected, pieces of flesh falling off their bodies. They made no sound but bared jagged teeth. With arms reaching out they came. The wind shifted and brought the stench of rotten meat.

Zevran raised his bow, an arrow set against the string.

"Wait for my signal," I murmured.

"I have every intention, my dear Warden," he replied, his eyes never leaving the path. When the first wave was only a few paces from the barrels, I shouted.

"Now, Morrigan."

A gesture and a word set the barrels aflame. Oil spattered out, setting the undead alight. They paid no heed to their burning flesh but swarmed towards us. Arrows flew. Every arrow Zevran loosed found a mark. Still, they came. Closer, with the stench of burning flesh. I dropped my bow and drew my blades.

Zevran drew his and moved to cover my flank. After that, the rest was a blur. The flash of steel and the sickening thud of dead burning limbs or heads hitting the ground. A frozen corpse shattered when Alistair rammed it with his shield. I danced through the midst of it all, my blades rising and falling.

Then there were only the dead, or more accurately, the fragments of burning dead piled around us, limbs twitching before they burned to ash. Zevran stood just behind me, his breathing ragged. He'd guarded my back, I thought in a corner of my mind. I turned and found him, flushed. Even now, he flashed me a smile.

I shook my head to clear the fugue of battle. Alistair came up on my flank. Was I mistaken or was there a trace of respect in his eyes when he glanced at Zevran? Morrigan nudged an arm aside with the end of her staff and grimaced. I glanced down at the faint pink scar on my arm. Wynne's work and I never remembered being wounded.

"Any idea what could be causing this?" Alistair asked Morrigan.

"Why should I know?" she snapped. "I am not privy to every school of magic."

He opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was cut off by one of the village militia running up

"The monsters…there's a group gathering by the waterfront. Hurry, there's only a few archers there."

We raced after him and engaged the creatures. They came in waves. My blade sang through the air, cutting in half one who tore off a villagers head. Blood spurted. I blinked it from my eyes and plunged on. Sometime in the dark, it ended. We stood, sides heaving, drawing ragged breaths.

"We won," a man spattered with blood whispered, then said, louder "We won!"

A ragged cry went up. We spent the rest of the night gathering up the fallen villagers, taking the dead to the chantry where the priestesses could prepare the bodies for the funeral rites and the wounded to the inn for healing. The remains of the walking dead were gathered and burned on boats pushed out into the lake.

Dawn was creeping up the sky. The eastern horizon a pale wash of red, like diluted blood.

"Where did they come from?" Alistair said, coming up beside me. "They aren't Darkspawn."

"They looked like men," I said and glanced at the castle. Alistair's eyes followed mine.

"Maker's breath," he said. "The guards from the castle. That would explain why Bann Teagan didn't see any when he scouted the walls."

Wynne limped towards us, leaning on her staff. The night had been harder on her than most.

"The Bann has asked us to gather at the chantry."

I nodded and followed her, the others trailing behind me. Bann Teagan, looking weary but triumphant stood on the top steps. He motioned us to join him. I complied, but I didn't like being up there, under everyone's gaze.

"Dawn arrives," he began. "And we are victorious." Cheers went up from the crowd. He continued speaking, praising us I think. But I didn't pay much attention to his words. I was thinking of the castle and what may be lying in wait there. The full battle was far from finished.

I roused myself back to what they were saying when the Revered Mother offered a prayer for the dead. I kept silent for the affirmation. My mother had taught me to worship the elven gods, the Creators, at least what little knowledge of them was left to us from our human bondage.

"Stay alert, my friends," Bann Teagan said to the crowd. "We are going to the castle to find the arl. We'll return as soon we are able." The crowd dispersed, and the bann turned towards me. "Meet me at the mill. There's still much we need to talk about."

I glanced at Wynne, who looked ready to crumple where she stood. "Give me a moment."

"All right, but don't delay too long," the bann said, and strode away.

"You need to rest," I said to Wynne as I came up to her.

"There's still the matter of the arl," she said, nodding at the castle.

"You're no good to me if you collapse."

Wynne shook her head. "I'm not dead yet."

"And I want you to stay that way…not dead, that is." I almost laughed. I sounded like Alistair. But Wynne smiled and straightened.

"I have a duty."

I slipped my hand under her arm and felt her lean on it, though no one would have noticed. She had more years than three of us put together, and more heart I think. But every body has its limits and she was at the edge of hers.

"I have a duty as well, to keep you safe. Let me do it."

She studied my face a moment then nodded. I glanced at Leliana.

"I'll keep her safe," the bard said. "Maker preserve you." She slipped her arm around Wynne's shoulders and made it look like just a friendly gesture as they walked off in the direction of the inn.

"Stay with them, Tam," I said, pointing to the inn. He whined, and I shook my head. "I'll be fine. But I want you to keep an eye on them, especially Wynne, in case more of those…things…come back."

He butted my leg, then trotted off.

"Let's go find out what Teagan wants," Alistair said, and we headed for the mill.

* * *

I frowned as I watched Bann Teagan hurry up the road to the bridge where Lady Isolde waited with a lone guard. He'd seemed more surprised than any of us when she had showed up, claiming that she had been allowed to come seek him out because her son, Connor, needed help. I didn't trust her story of how 'something' that a mage had unleashed had allowed her to leave.

Zevran fingered the pommel of his dagger. "Why is it that I can smell a trap all over this?"

"I'm surprised you can smell anything through all that scented oil you douse yourself in," Morrigan said.

The assassin laughed, but there was an edgy wariness in his stance and his gaze as he tracked Bann Teagan escorting Lady Isolde back to the castle.

"There are no Darkspawn here, Warden," Sten said. "We waste time."

"I am not abandoning Arl Eamon," Alistair said, resting his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes narrowing.

"We're not going to be able to secure his aid until we find out just what's going on," I said. "We won last night, but half the villagers who fought with us are dead, or too badly wounded to fight again. If we don't see this through, we might as well kill the rest of them ourselves, because they won't survive another night." I glanced down at the ring Bann Teagan had slipped into my hand. "And, unchecked, whatever that mage unleashed here might spread beyond Redcliffe. I wouldn't want to have to fight those walking dead and Darkspawn at the same time." I glanced at Zevran. "And I agree about a trap. Lady Isolde is hiding something."

The Qunari frowned. "You think the Darkspawn and these walking dead are connected?"

"I don't know. Wynne told me once about the connection between the Darkspawn and the Fade. I know mages can 'attract' things from there." I shook my head. "I just don't know enough about what's going on here. And there's only way to find out."

Sten glanced at the old mill behind us. "Yes, and only a fool tries to fight a war on two fronts."

By this time, Lady Isolde and the Bann were out of sight, so I turned and the others followed me into the mill.

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_Reviews are welcome. Comments/feedback help grow a better writer._


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you again to all those who've added this to favorites/alerts and for putting me on favorite author, and taken the time to review. I really appreciate it. Your support helps keep me writing. Thanks, once again, to brownc0at for being my Beta._

_Our band has survived the fight with the walking dead, but the battle is far from over. Now, it's on to the castle to find the source of the problem and deal with it. One thing that's always puzzled me in the game, is how Jowan came to be hired by Lady Isolde. So, does Zevran, and he has a theory about that.  
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**Zevran Araini**

The tunnel leading to the castle dungeons was ill-lit and damp and smelled like the dead we'd left littered all over the village streets last night. It was plain, to me at least, that the human arlessa knew what the source of this 'evil' was. I speculated as much to my Warden.

"I agree," he said, pulling a cobweb off his long braid. "And if it is a demon, how could she not know?"

"They don't all look as obvious as the Abominations we faced in the Circle Tower," Alistair said. "Remember that mage I told you about? She was possessed, but she still looked human."

"Could this source of evil be the mage Lady Isolde mentioned?" Darrian said.

Alistair frowned. "Possible, but I don't see how. If he was taken over by a demon, it wouldn't have let itself be imprisoned."

"Unless that's all part of some complicated plot," I said, pulling cobwebs off my armor. Maker, there were a lot of spiders in this tunnel.

Alistair shook his head. "Demons don't work like that. They're pretty straightforward when it comes to possession." He waved his hand. "Take over the mage. Kill everything and anything that gets in the way. They're not much for subtlety."

"So, someone else, then. Someone with magic," Darrian said.

"But who?" Alistair glanced around and lowered his voice. "Mages aren't allowed to just wander around Ferelden. Which means it would have to be an…apostate."

His voice had fallen to a whisper by the end of his sentence. I glanced back at Morrigan, trailing behind us to guard our rear. Fortunately, she didn't seem to have overheard Alistair.

I glided a step closer to my Warden. "You know, I find it puzzling that with this convenient escape route, no one in the castle seems to have taken advantage of it."

"Yes, that is curious," he said, then was silent.

We came to the end of the tunnel and a rough wooden door leaning on its hinges. Beyond it lay the narrow corridor of a dungeon, the walls draped with the usual accoutrements of manacles and instruments of torture, though they looked dusty and unused.

Several of the walking dead like those we had 'slain' last night were gathered in the middle, banging on a cell door.

Darrian glanced back at us. We pulled out weapons and took them down, quickly.

"Is someone there?" a man's hoarse voice called from the back of the cell where the creatures had been gathered.

A human leaned against the wall, holding his arm. A large purple bruise covered his left cheek and his fine robes were dirty and ripped.

"You don't look like the arlessa's guard," the prisoner said, squinting through a swollen eye, as Darrian strode up. "Where are you from?"

"Outside," Darrian said, and I smiled at his ambiguity. "I take it you're the mage the arlessa imprisoned."

He nodded. "Yes, my name is Jowan. She hired me to tutor her son, Connor."

I found it odd that a mage was still imprisoned. Well, perhaps not so odd, considering the horde of undead that had invaded the village last night. And not all mages were as powerful as our beautiful Witch of the Wilds. While Darrian began interrogating the man, I crouched down to examine the corpses.

Their leather armor and weapons weren't the most expensive, but they were good quality and well cared for. That spoke of discipline and a responsible lord. What was odd, was that the bodies hadn't been looted before they were revived as some kind of living dead. Some still wore rings, and many had lockets bearing Andraste's likeness or a Chantry symbol around their necks. Though, I suppose a demon wouldn't care about such things.

"I'm not responsible for the attacks on the village," I heard Jowan say as I rose and turned around. "That started after I was imprisoned."

If true, then where had those undead come from?

My Warden folded his arms. His face had that same closed look as when he'd interrogated me. "And why did she imprison you?"

The human sagged against the wall, his head bowed. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. "I poisoned the Arl. I was told he was a threat to the realm." He looked up, weary, resigned. "Teryn Loghain promised me I would be spared and that he would make things right with the Circle if I did what he asked."

"Ah, it's so comforting to see how everyone seems to be motivated by patriotism," I commented, though I was curious as to what this mage had done that the Circle would be nipping at his heels. The templars, as well, I assumed, since they are the ones to deal out what they consider 'justice' to rogue mages.

"Why would Loghain promise you anything?" Darrian asked.

Jowan closed his eyes and swallowed. "Because I'm a blood mage."

Well, this just kept getting more and more complicated. I wondered why Loghain just hadn't offered a contract to the Crows, if he wanted to get rid of this Arl. It certainly would have been more efficient and the results assured. I glanced at my Warden. Well, most of the time they were. But, then again, the contract on the Wardens had been Howe's doing, and Loghain really hadn't looked too pleased about the notion. Though, since the papers had already been signed, there was nothing he could do about it.

"You, a blood mage?" Morrigan said, arching an elegant brow. "I never would have guessed."

"Well, this isn't good," Alistair muttered, and his hand moved to his sword hilt.

"I'd been caught and condemned to death. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to redeem myself," the mage said. "But it's all fallen apart. Somehow, I have to make it right. I have to." Underneath the desperation, he sounded sincere.

"Why did Lady Isolde hire you as a tutor?" Darrian asked. A very good question, especially since he was an apostate, and she had to have known that. Circle mages were closely watched, their movements restricted and tracked.

"Connor had started showing signs of magic. She was terrified he would be taken from her and given to the Circle. So, she sought an apostate, one who could teach him enough to hide his talents." He grimaced. "Her husband didn't know it. She kept it a secret from him."

In my experience, wives often kept secrets from their husbands, though they usually involved a lover or two, not a child who was a mage. Now the real question was, how had Loghain known she was looking for an apostate? One didn't exactly announce that desire on the sale board in a market square.

I know Master Stefan had several agents dedicated to roaming Ferelden and collecting information. That he would plant one of those spies in the Arl's house seemed a reasonable assumption, given the Arl's position among the nobility. It could have been anyone. A kitchen servant. One of the guards. Information could have been slipped back to Howe, who would have passed it on to Loghain. Of course, this was all speculation, but it seemed the only explanation that made any sense based on what we currently knew.

"Could Connor be responsible for those walking dead?" Darrian asked, glancing at the ex-templar. From his tones, I sensed another question beneath his words.

"Maker's breath," Alistair said softly behind me, with an intensity I would not have expected from him. Darrian's eyes met his, and I saw something akin to fear flicker through his eyes. But not for him self, I think. He did not seem a man who frightened easily. Ah, that wasn't good.

"He doesn't know much," Jowan said. "But he could have torn open the Veil to the Fade, somehow, and let powerful demons and spirits in. Ones strong enough to kill and create those walking corpses." His hands closed over the bars. "Please, let me help."

"I say we let him," Morrigan said. "Even if he can't, let him go. Why should he be imprisoned, condemned for the choices he has made?"

"Hey, he's a blood mage," Alistair said. "We can't just… let him go."

"Better to slay him? Punish him for using his free will? Is this Alistair who speaks or the templar?"

There was fire in her eyes. I love that in a woman…or a man.

"It's just common sense. We don't even know the whole story, yet. Besides, he did admit to poisoning the arl," Alistair said.

In this case, I agreed with the ex-templar, but I kept my opinion to myself. I did value my limbs, after all.

Darrian glanced at me. "Everyone deserves a chance."

Alistair frowned. "I don't know. Between poisoning the arl and admitting to being a blood mage... Still, this is an…unusual situation."

Now, that is not an attitude I expected to find in an ex-templar. To be honest, I was surprised Alistair hadn't already run the human through. It seemed this Grey Warden wasn't what he appeared to be on the surface, either.

"Please, give me a chance to fix it," Jowan said, still clinging to the bars.

My Warden said nothing, only went over to the cell door. He slipped a slender lock pock from a bag on his belt, and in a few moments, the door swung open. I wondered where he had learned that.

"Thank you," Jowan said. "I'll do what I can."

Alistair made a sound like a soft sigh but said nothing, though I saw the doubt in his eyes. He also made sure to trail the mage while we fought our way through the pockets of undead that infested the castle. But the mage kept his word, fighting beside us. Though I saw no use of blood while he wielded his spells. Curious.

After endless skirmishes, we came at last to the main hall, and found Bann Teagan cavorting like a drunken jester in front of a young boy who must be Connor. Lady Isolde huddled near the fireplace, crouched in fear. I will admit to a flicker of that myself. I'd never faced a demon before.

Then Darrian stepped forward and into the hall.

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_Comments and reviews are always welcome._


	19. Chapter 19

_Many thanks, once again, to those who've added this to favorites/alerts, especially favorite author, and taken the time to review. And also to you lurkers in the shadows. Your comments and feedback are appreciated. And my apologies if I forgot to send a ty. Life has been a bit hectic lately.  
_

_The village of Redcliffe has been saved and the walking dead cleared out of the castle. Now the hard part comes. _

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**Darrian Tabris**

I hadn't been sure what to expect when we finally entered the main hall after fighting our way through a seemingly endless stream of walking corpses. Not Bann Teagan crouched and laughing, and shaking his hands in front of the fireplace. Guards had flanked both sides of Connor and Lady Isolde, who had looked at her son with longing and fear. Connor had looked…I'd never seen an expression like that on a child's face…savage and gleeful at the same time.

I stared down at the pools of blood that marked where the dead guards had fallen. Demon controlled, they'd had no choice about fighting. And I'd had no choice about killing them. When the fighting started, Connor had somehow taken control back from the demon and then fled to his room. I had stationed Sten and Morrigan in the hallway outside, with orders just to keep watch and report back if anything happened.

Lady Isolde stood by the fireplace, wringing her hands. Saying, over and over, that all she had wanted was to protect her son. But this was only after she'd finished screaming at Jowan and threatening to have him executed right then and there for poisoning her husband.

"You can't…Teagan….you can't just…." Her voice trailed off into another fit of weeping.

"He's my nephew, Isolde. You think I don't care about him, too?"

She drew a ragged breath. "He's my son. I would give my life to save him."

"My Warden?" Zevran said, coming up to me, his hands curled around his weapons. He looked…concerned, as his amber eyes met mine.

I stepped back from the blood I'd seen and smelled so much of these past months. It didn't bother me anymore. At least, it didn't make me want to throw up. Alistair had been right about getting used to it. And how I hated that.

"I still have to decide about Connor," I said.

Blessed Creators, I desperately wanted the burden of that decision on someone else. My gut clenched and I felt my hand tightening on the hilt of my sword.

Alistair's hand had tightened on his hilt till I thought the skin covering his knuckles would split. "I…normally wouldn't suggest…killing a child. But, he's an abomination…we might not have a choice."

Oh, gods, I didn't think I could do that…or let anyone else do it, either.

Alistair trailed me as I walked over to where Jowan was sitting, hunched over on a bench shoved against the wall. He'd mentioned something about a rite, and two ways to get the power needed to conduct it. Blood or lyrium.

He looked up, clutching his belly when I stopped in front of him.

"This rite you mentioned. You're sure it will work? And you can you kill the demon?"

He swallowed. "You'll let me try?"

I nodded. Jowan straightened and held up his hand.

"I'll find a way. I promise."

"Maker's breath, you're not really going to let Isolde sacrifice herself, are you?" Alistair said behind me, his voice pitched low.

I wanted to. Her choices had led to the death of half of her guards and many of the villagers. Something of that thought must have showed in my face, because Alistair's eyes went bright and hard. Zevran's eyes closed, as though a veil had been pulled down over them, though they still gleamed in the lamplight.

Using Isolde's blood would leave Connor without a mother and Eamon without a wife. I closed my eyes. What was one more tragedy piled on all the others? How many villagers had lost a parent or a child or sibling to the demon's rampages? Isolde could have chosen otherwise. She could have told Eamon about Connor. Hard as it was, she could have let her son go to the tower.

I had a choice, too. I opened my eyes. Alistair was still staring at me, his face getting harder with every passing moment. I couldn't think in here, with the stink of blood and battle permeating the air and one human ex-templar glaring at me. Even now, he refused to make the hard choice. And he would probably second guess and question any decision I made. I strode past him, my temper fraying into ragged shreds.

"I'll be in the front courtyard," I called back over my shoulder. I heard Zevran fall into step behind me.

"Darrian," Alistair called out. He sounded angry. I pivoted and saw him take a step towards me.

"I haven't decided yet. I won't be long." I swung back towards the door, not waiting to hear his response and praying he wouldn't follow me. Because if he did, I was going to punch him, and I didn't want to do that.

I shoved open the left front door and made it almost to the bottom of the long stairs before I grabbed a hold of my temper. I almost collapsed onto the last step as I sat down and buried my face in my arms, crossed on my knees.

"You know, my Warden, while I appreciate the view of your fine back, I would hate to see a dagger or sword sticking out of it."

"Are you planning on putting one there?" I said, not looking at him. From the corner of my eye, I saw him settle beside me, so close that his leg was almost touching mine.

"Of course not; I gave my word, didn't I?"

I couldn't see his face, but he sounded slightly offended. I looked up. He was smiling, but then, he was always smiling. He used it the way other people used frowns, or glares, to keep someone at a distance.

"I only meant that there might be more of those creatures wandering around. Best not to take chances by exposing your back, yes?"

I straightened with a small sigh, but kept my arms across my knees. He was right. "I'm sorry, Zevran. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just…" I didn't know what to do about Connor, but I couldn't say that out loud.

He pulled back and gave me a measuring look, as though he hadn't expected me to apologize. Then he shrugged and settled back beside me. It should have been uncomfortable, him being so close. But it wasn't. I knew myself well enough to know that part of the reason was that I was so damn attracted to him. If I hadn't known anything about love, I would have mistaken it for that. I knew it was lust. Pure. Primal. Powerful. He was also an elf, which connected us in a way that could never exist between me and the others.

"Just what?" he prompted, breaking the silence which had fallen between us.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to think of how I could talk about Connor, without talking about him.

"Did you ever kill an innocent?" I hadn't wanted to be quite so blunt, but I couldn't think of how else to say it. But he seemed to take it in stride.

"Hmm, is anyone truly innocent?" he said, waving his hand. "The marks I took deserved death for one reason or another." He leaned back on his hands, looking up at me. "I consoled myself with the notion that I was an instrument of fate, dealing out some kind of justice. Now, if you're asking about bystanders…relatives…." He paused and his voice went very soft. "…children. Never on purpose. Accidents happen. Someone steps forward when they should step back, or is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

None of which really helped me. Whatever happened to Connor wouldn't be an accident, but the result of a deliberate choice. My eyes strayed to the quiver slung across his back. There were still a few arrows in it. I reached over and plucked one out. Small and light, with green and blue fletching. The tip was steel, narrow and barbed. Memory stirred as I examined it. One of the first lessons my mother had given me.

"You know, you can get more distance with a bow…if you're thinking of launching it, that is," Zevran said.

I rolled the shaft between my thumb and fingers, admiring the fine workmanship. "Did you ever practice shooting on a really windy day?"

He sat up and grimaced. "Yes, I had a master who insisted on it. Said I needed to learn how to compensate for the wind. Which, in principle, I agreed with. Unfortunately, his idea of windy also included standing on a tower in the middle of a hurricane."

My eyes slid to his. "Ever hit the target, then?"

He chuckled. "Sometimes, but that was more luck than skill. Why do you ask?"

"My mother taught me that making a decision is like sending an arrow into flight. Even if your aim is true, you can't be absolutely certain where it will land. A stray breeze can knock it off course. You could sneeze as you release the bow." It was my turn to smile. "Once, a bird flew across my line of sight just as I released. Instead of hitting the target, I hit the bird."

"Hmmm, in other words, expect the unexpected."

"Partly."

He gazed up at the sky, clear and cloudless. "I think I understand. Even if you have a clear line of sight, you can still hit something else." His eyes dropped back to me. "If you're asking my advice, I suggest picking what seems to be the best target, and then forget about it. You can't go back and change the past." A sliver of shadow passed through his eyes. "Of course, advice is easy to give, and usually worth what you paid for it. Which, in this case, isn't very much, yes?" For the first time in two weeks, his smile held a hint of real warmth in it.

I rose, handed him the arrow, and he slipped it back into his quiver. Then he rose and followed me back to the main hall.

Alistair strode up as we entered. Balanced on the balls of his feet, just in front of me, his hand curled around his hilt, he was tight as a drawn bow.

"Well?"

"We go to the Tower and get the lyrium for the ritual. The mages owe me - owe us - a favor." From the corner of my eye, I saw Zevran's eyes widen then narrow.

Isolde sobbed, probably in relief.

Alistair's hand slipped off his sword hilt, and his face softened. "Thank you. This…means a lot to me."

Teagan came over, looking relieved and worried at the same time. "You can sail across the lake to the tower in less then a day. I only pray Connor will stay in control till you return." He glanced at the blood mage. "I'll keep Jowan here till you come back. He can help keep watch."

One day there and one back, I thought, as we hurried down to the docks in the village. Two days. All we needed was two days. I prayed the gods would grant us that much.

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_As always, comments/feedback are appreciated. Happy Fourth of July to everyone out there!_


	20. Chapter 20

_Many thanks, once again, to those who've added this story to alerts and me to favorite author. Your support is much appreciated. Thanks also, to brownc0at for being my beta, and for all you lurkers in the shdadows._

_Zevran, Darrian and Alistair have boarded the boat to the Circle tower to get the lyrium for the ritual to free Connor from the demon. Along the way, Zevran learns a few things he didn't quite expect._

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**Zevran Arainai**

I'd never done much sailing back in Antiva, though I enjoyed it very much. The few times I'd gone had been only to fulfill a contract. And I'd never gone alone. Too easy to slip away up or down the coast where there were a hundred places to disappear. The Crows liked to keep a tight short leash on their assassins below the rank of Master.

There is a sense of freedom on the water when cutting through the waves with the wind at your back, the horizon open and beckoning. Fortunately, I had the stomach for sailing, as did my warden. So I joined him at the bow. Except for my self and Alistair, the others remained behind in Redcliffe, in case their blades and skills were needed.

The templar lounged on the side, but watched me like a hawk. Very protective of his fellow warden, he was. Though I sensed he had no 'other' interest in Darrian. Like almost every other Ferelden I'd met – and admittedly that number was few- he seemed able to conceive of only one way for a man to find pleasure. And, judging by the way he blushed when the topic of sex was brought up or even hinted at, I suspected he hadn't even experienced that yet.

As for my Warden, well…he seemed a bit more open minded, judging by the looks he gave me when he thought I wasn't watching. I suppose I could have approached him more directly. But I had to be careful about such advances. I needed to secure my position with him, but go too far, too fast, and I could either end up dead, or cut loose to fend for myself against whatever the Crows sent after me.

I turned away from the scowling ex-templar and studied the horizon, where the dim small outline of a Circle tower could be seen. It was good to be away from the stench of the town and the walking dead.

Standing next to him, I shifted my line of sight, so I could just bring him into view at the edge of vision. He stared out over the water, his eyes focused in the distance, probably on the tower. Why did he risk so much for a _shem_ child? One he didn't even know. The humans wouldn't have done the same for an elf. And quickly eliminating the threat of an abomination was certainly the most prudent course. On the surface, going to the tower seemed a foolish decision, but he wasn't a fool. Of course, saving the life of the arl's only son and heir would help ensure the noble's support by creating an obligation between them. But I had the distinct feeling that was not my Warden's primary motivation. Or that the thought had even occurred to him. So, the only reasonable conclusion was that he was motivated by compassion.

I gazed down at the water slipping past the hull. One doesn't survive the Crows by appealing to compassion, but by creating layers of obligation, favor for favor, or by gold, if one can accumulate enough sovereigns. An exchange that is common enough in the world, at large. My Warden didn't have much in the way of coin, so how had the Circle tower become obligated to him? I'd known he'd fought a battle there, but nothing beyond that. Masters hoard information like gold, and in this, Master Stefan had been typical.

"I'm curious about something," I said to Darrian, settled near the bow. He was leaning on his forearms on the railing of the ship, his feet spread for balance.

"What's that?"

"How did the mage tower come to owe you a favor?"

He stared out over the water for a moment, the wind playing with wisps of russet hair around his forehead. "I cleared out a demon infestation in the tower. It was either that…or the Rite of Annulment."

"Rite of Annulment?"

Alistair came over. "The permission of the Grand Cleric is needed. But it gives the Templars the right to purge a Circle entirely… if they feel it's irredeemable."

"There were children in the tower," Darrian said softly, with those steel hard undertones I'd heard him use when his will was set. "As well as mages who were free from possession, and who'd managed to survive what the blood mages had unleashed."

"They would kill…everyone?" I asked. "That seems a bit drastic." Alistair stared at me as if I had sprouted another head. "Death should be wielded like a dagger, not a mace, my dear ex-templar. A judicious application in the right place is far more effective than wholesale slaughter. Not to mention the mess it leaves behind."

"That seems an odd attitude for an assassin," Alistair said, crossing his arms and frowning.

"And how many assassins have you met, hmm, that you can so judge what is the…correct attitude? Dealing death is an art. As such, it should be done with skill and subtlety."

Maker, slaughter everyone? And he thought my profession was bloody.

The ex-templar scowled. "You… are a murderer for hire."

I cocked my head. "Aren't we all murderers here? What is the difference –other than that I was quite well paid for it– between what I do and what the chantry Templars would have done to the mages in the tower?"

Alistair chopped at the air with his hand. "It's not the same. It's…different."

"How?" I challenged him.

He shook his head. "It just…is."

"Maybe not so different," Darrian said. The ex-templar and I both started. The man had a gift for surprising me.

Alistair leaned forward. "How can you say that? I'm the last one who would have wanted to see the Rite carried out, but there has to be a difference… doesn't there?"

Darrian gazed down at his hands, his feet spread for balance. "I never told you how Duncan found me, did I?"

Alistair shook his head. I leaned forward, very curious.

"The day Duncan conscripted me was supposed to have been my wedding day."

"You were getting married? I'm sorry…I didn't know."

Married? Did my warden 'walk both sides of the street', as we say in Antiva?

Darrian sighed and turned around, leaning back against the bow. "The marriage was arranged by my father. A woman from another Alienage. It's common practice." He shrugged. "I was old enough and my father…wanted grandchildren. My cousin Soris was also supposed to get married that day."

"So, you didn't know her?" Alistair said. Darrian shook his head.

"The first time I saw her was just before the ceremony was supposed to start. We'd only talked a few minutes when some human males came into the Alienage. They were looking for …'companionship.' My cousin, Shianni, hit one over the head with a bottle and knocked him out. At the time we didn't know he was Vaughn, the arl's son." He smiled, but it had a bitter edge to it.

"Is that when Duncan recruited you?" Alistair asked.

"No, it was later. After blood was shed…a great deal of blood."

He looked Alistair in the eye when he continued. His voice vibrated with emotion, but not the mindless heat of one who had sought vengeance, though that certainly must have been his motive. He spoke as one who had made a clear and deliberate choice to end another life.

"Vaughn returned with more men and abducted several women, including both brides and Shianni. He especially wanted her. I tried to stop them and was knocked out. When I came to, they were already gone." He stared at his boots a moment then looked up. "I asked for Duncan's help to get them back, but he said he couldn't intervene. That it would cause more trouble than I knew. But he gave me his sword and bow. And told me that a man had a right to defend his friends and family."

Alistair swallowed. "That sounds like him."

"Soris and I got into the castle through the servant's entrance. The guards didn't like the notion of elves carrying weapons. So we fought…and killed them. They didn't give us any choice. By the time we reached where they had taken the women, one had already been raped and killed. Shianni…" He stopped and his hands tightened on his arms. "She was still alive, but Vaughn had already raped her, maybe even his 'friends' as well. She never told me exactly what happened." He looked past Alistair at me, and then back at the ex-templar. "So I killed him…and them."

Those last words hung in the air between us. He'd been focused on Alistair while he spoke; only looking at me for that brief moment. Yet, I had the odd feeling that the story was more for my benefit than his fellow Warden's.

"Duncan invoked the right of conscription when the city watch came to arrest me."

I thought the human would be angry, but he only shook his head. "It's said that every Warden has a story."

"Now you know mine," Darrian said quietly. "So, in a way, I too am a murderer."

I felt the need to say something, but I wasn't sure what, so I kept silent. We all were, each with our own thoughts. After a time, Alistair settled on the deck, leaned back and closed his eyes, and was soon snoring softly.

I came back up to the bow and turned so I could study my warden without seeming to. Interesting, to know that he was capable of killing like that, cool and deliberate, and without regret. Yet, he also sought to avoid killing when expediency would deem it the wisest course.

A most intriguing man, this warden.

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_Comments/feedback are always welcome.  
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	21. Chapter 21

_Thanks to those who took the time to review. I'm glad you're enjoying the different points of view. It's been fun writing them. And more thanks to those who've added this to alerts/favorites for story and author. And, of course, all you lurkers out there. Last, but not least, to brownc0at, for the Beta thing._

_Zevran has just learned a few things about his Warden's past. So, it seems only fair that our Warden now learn a few things about his. _

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**Darrian Tabris**

I was a little surprised at how silent Zevran had been during my story, and afterwards. Even his smile faded, though it was hard to imagine him somber. He wasn't now, but I think the others would have been surprised at the thoughtful look that had settled there.

He leaned out, his hands curled around the railing and watched the small waves slapping against the hull. A sea gull skimmed by above us, calling. It seemed odd to find one so far from the coast. But I guess a storm had blown it inland, and it had found a home here. I wondered if I'd ever see mine again.

"Do you like being an assassin?" I asked Zevran, remembering the dark joy I had felt when my blade had sunk into Vaughn's heart and ended his life.

He glanced up at me and one hand shifted to the hilt of his dagger, then lay curled around it.

"Hmm, I suppose that's a fair question. I could say it's a living as such things go. There were certainly benefits to being a Crow." He turned towards me, leaning on one elbow against the bow, a casually suggestive pose. "You are feared and respected. The authorities look the other way when you're somewhere you're not supposed to be. And the Crows could be quite generous when rewarding service."

It came off vaguely like a hawker making a pitch in the marketplace, sounding a little rehearsed.

"But?"

"Being a Crow also means doing what is expected of you, always. Having no choices. Being considered an expendable commodity. And the rules…" He waved his hand and rolled his eyes. "So many rules. As for being an assassin? I like it just fine. Really, could you see me doing anything else?"

I studied the water slipping by the hull before answering. My father had taught me to listen, not just to what people said, but to how they said it. Their undertones carried as much, if not more, meaning than the words they used. In the first part of Zevran's answer, I heard resentment and anger, the kind you carry with you for a long time. As for his claim of liking the profession he'd been forced into, I wasn't sure how to read that.

"But if you could choose something else, what would it be?"

For the first time since I'd 'collected' him, he hesitated, and then he smiled, like he had on the steps outside the castle when I was trying to decide what to do about Connor, the smile that let me glimpse what lay beneath all his easy words.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. The Crows bought me when I was seven for three sovereigns. I'm told it was a good price." His hand strayed to a weapon, and a dark shadow flickered through his amber eyes. "The Crows buy all their assassins young. Raise them to know nothing but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die."

My heart thudded. Creators, they bought children? And just what did that mean…being raised to know nothing but murder?

"You were a child," I said, appalled more by what he'd probably left unsaid.

His face closed, then as quickly as that look had come, it vanished, like water washing fresh blood from a dagger. So easily, that smile that pushed others back returned. He placed it between us like a shield, hiding behind it and protecting himself at the same time.

"For those who survived there was wealth, influence, women… or men…whatever you fancied." He leaned forward and smiled suggestively. "Would it offend you if I said I fancied you?"

"Me?" I said, taken aback more by the sudden shift in him than the suggestion, and then the feeling that he'd thrown me a feint, to distract me.

He pitched his voice soft, his eyes drifting over me and his appreciation plain.

"I fancy things that are beautiful. Things that are strong. Even things that are dangerous. And you, my dear Warden, excel in all these."

I flushed and looked away, grateful that Alistair was snoring. The invitation was clear, and oh, Creators, I wanted him. But it led down a road I wasn't sure I wanted to walk. The way he shifted moods, I wasn't sure what was real and what was feigned. Was it really me he was interested in? Or was he just playing a seduction game to ensure his own survival and to find a way out of the Crows? It occurred to me then, that maybe it was both. For, in his way, I think he'd tried to be honest with me when answering my questions.

I looked back at him. He was still smiling, waiting for my answer. I decided I could be no less honest, either in my words or the way I answered him, so I leaned in very close, till the wind blown strands of his hair brushed my cheek.

"No, it wouldn't offend me in the least," I said, then turned and walked away.


	22. Chapter 22

_Many thanks to those who've taken the time to review. Your comments and support are much appreciated. And also to those who've added this story to favorites/alerts. Last, but by no means, least, a nod and a wave to brownc0at for being my beta._

_Relationships are beginning to shift, just a bit, between some of the party members. Zevran learns what happens when he decides to push the boundaries just a little. Enjoy! And, as always, comments & feedback are always welcome._

* * *

**Zevran Arainai**

From anyone else, I would have considered the manner of my Warden's response shameless teasing. From him, it was a challenge. And such a sweet challenge. I smiled at the thought of those soft-looking lips, so close to mine that I felt the warmth of his breath against my face as he spoke. As for his answer, well, it was good to know that any advance I made would be welcomed. Though how close he would let me come was still a question.

I resumed looking out over the water, enjoying the cool breeze slipping over my skin. The day had just gotten much warmer. For I really did fancy him for the reasons I'd told him. Ah, Zevran, it's reassuring to know you haven't lost your touch in this harsh land. I was turning these thoughts over in my mind when he returned, carrying bread and a wedge of pale yellow cheese, and two small flasks of wine.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, holding out a flask. A suggestive response hovered on the tip of my tongue, but something in his eyes and the set of his mouth stopped me. His story of how he had killed an arl's son still lingered in his heart. So I just nodded and accepted the flask.

The wine was better than I expected, slightly sweet and fruity. We ate in silence, breaking off chunks of bread and cheese and trading them back and forth. And I didn't even have to worry about them being poisoned. In the weeks we'd traveled together, he hadn't seemed to worry about my poisoning the food, either. He trusted me to keep my word, and had from the first moment he'd accepted my pledge. There were no silly rules, no pointless and cruel games for me to prove myself. The stones around my heart loosened a little more. And, to my surprise, I didn't want to put them back in place.

"The captain says we should reach the tower just before evening. Though, we'll have to wait for morning before we can sail back. The wind comes from the wrong direction at night," Darrian said. He glanced at Alistair, still curled up and snoring on the deck. "I was wondering if you could teach me some of those moves I saw you use last night."

Training prompted me to say no. But the Crows were far away. Besides, if I taught him it increased my own chances of survival when they came looking for me. And, sooner or later, they would.

"So, are you planning on becoming an assassin now, as well as a Grey Warden?"

"No, but fighting this Blight… I'll take every advantage I can get."

I chuckled. Intriguing and practical, this Warden. "Why not? If you'll teach me how to make that poison I saw you coating your blades with before the fight last night. Quite effective against those walking dead."

"Agreed."

We finished off the wine, and he tucked the empty flasks into a small chest bolted to the deck.

"So, you killed an arl's son," I said. His hands tightened on the railing, and then relaxed. "Hmm, if you're going to kill off a nobleman, you should at least have gotten paid for it."

"He'll never bother Shianni again. I consider that fair payment."

"Perhaps, but such a thing is not without consequences," I said carefully.

"I know that," he said, so sharp and sudden that I kept the rest of my words behind my teeth. He stared at his hands gripping the railing.

"I know that," he said again, in a softer voice. "Not a day goes by I don't think of what those might be. But if I had left him alive, he would have returned. And Shianni…Shianni and who knows how many others would probably be dead now." He turned to me, and in the bright sun there were flecks of turquoise in his gray eyes. "Tell me, Zevran, your masters in the Crows, are they human?"

"The Crows buy humans, as well."

"That's not what I asked."

I saw no reason to lie. "Yes."

He closed his eyes. "Not so different, you and I, are we?"

"Oh, there are differences enough, I think, to make us interesting, yes?"

"Are there?" he murmured.

"Of course. You, my dear Warden, are amber and smoky quartz, wrapped in steel and fire. Me, well, I suppose I am gold and amber wrapped in…" I glanced down at my armor. "…very tight leather. An appealing sight, yes?"

He laughed, the kind that comes from the belly. It was good to hear.

"You should laugh more often. It suits that handsome face of yours far better than frowns."

There was a snort behind me. "What…did I miss the punch line again?' Alistair said, climbing to his feet and covering a yawn. Darrian only laughed harder.

"What?" Alistair said, shaking off sleep.

My Warden's laughter subsided, but left a smile behind it. The ex-templar smiled back, then glanced at me, puzzled and shrugged his shoulders. Now that reaction was not one I would have expected from him. Not towards me. Hmm, yes and he had fallen asleep while I was awake. Interesting.

Alistair stretched and wandered over to us, then his gaze settled on the tower, looming larger with every passing minute.

"I just hope they have enough lyrium for the rite or…," Alistair said, and a shudder passed through him.

"Why wouldn't they?" I asked. "Or are the mages here prone to hoarding?"

"All the lyrium used in Ferelden comes from Orzammar," Darrian explained. "And lately, none has been shipped out. Rumor says there's a dispute over the kingship and the city's closed to trade till it's settled."

I chuckled. "Yes, politics is usually bad for business…or good for business, depending on which side you're on. I'm sure the smugglers are making a fortune." I tilted my head. "Perhaps I'm in the wrong business after all."

"Have you no morals?" Alistair said, banging his fist on the railing.

"Now there's another interesting concept. It's been my experience that morals are generally espoused to make people feel guilty about what they should be enjoying. Usually sex."

"They're not…they're supposed to…to …That is…oh, I give up," Alistair said and stalked off towards the stern, his cheeks bright red.

"Is he always so easily embarrassed about sex?" I asked Darrian.

My Warden's voice was soft, pitched for my ears alone. "Don't bait him, Zevran. I don't care if you do it with me. But Alistair…" He looked down at his interlaced fingers, then at me. "He deserves better than that."

So, my Warden was far more perceptive than I first thought, and very protective of his friends. For a brief moment, a heartbeat or two, that bothered me in a way I didn't quite understand.

"Ah, is this something I should beg pardon for?"

He straightened and motioned towards the stern. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

I sighed, a bit dramatically, I'll admit. But if I wanted to stay in the good graces of my Warden, I had to apologize. We would be spending many weeks, months even in one another's company. Prudence demanded that bad feelings be minimal. I was rather attached to my head and limbs, after all.

I nodded and headed for the stern.


	23. Chapter 23

_Thanks again to those who've reviewed, messaged, and added this to favorites/alerts. Your support is much appreciated. Also, all you lurkers in the shadow. And last, but not least, thanks to brownc0at for being my Beta.  
_

_It seems like poeple are enjoying the alternating points of view. So, to that end, Darrian and Alistair share some thoughts about Zevran._

* * *

**Darrian Tabris**

I watched Zevran as he strolled towards Alistair, his step light and perfectly attuned to the sway of the ship. The assassin's perceptions were as sharp and accurately aimed as his blades. Though I supposed being raised 'to know nothing but murder' meant you learned to probe for weakness, for any advantage and use it…or you died. It also had to mean always looking over your shoulder, and not trusting the one beside you to guard your back, because at any moment they might bury their dagger in it.

But we couldn't afford that. Not if we were to survive this Blight, and overcome the Archdemon, and the Darkspawn spilling out into the countryside. We needed to be able to trust the companion fighting beside us without reservation or hesitation.

Zevran was good. That had been so clear last night when my own dance crossed his, and I saw him slipping up behind. then cutting down the creatures the demon inside Connor had unleashed on the village. Never a wasted motion, every blow I witnessed connecting to some effect, many of them devastating.

Apologizing to Alistair wouldn't completely dispel the misgivings the former templar had about my accepting Zevran's oath, but it would go a fair ways to easing the tension between them. At least, I hoped it would.

Alistair, at least, seemed to be listening to whatever Zevran was saying. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction to hear their words. Alistair scowled a moment, then relented and nodded. Some of the tightness in my gut eased. Apology accepted, it seemed. Zevran smiled and bowed to him, then strolled back to the bow to stand beside me.

I didn't ask him what he and Alistair had said to one another, though I was curious. Alistair joined us a few minutes later, shaking his head, but he looked more relaxed. He even smiled.

Zevran glanced between us, then rolled a shoulder, a move he somehow made look graceful.

"It's been a long night. I think I'll catch a nap while I can," he said, and settled off on the side, his hands resting on his weapons as he closed his eyes.

I was tired but too tense to sleep. I kept thinking of Connor, and how young he was, and what we might have to do if the ritual failed or there wasn't enough lyrium. The First Enchanter would never let Isolde sacrifice herself, even though I was willing to. Blood, freely given for the ritual that might save him, was forbidden, but not the slaughter of a child. Blessed Creators, I didn't understand these _shem _and their beliefs about magic.

Water slapped against the hull. The sky was so bright and clear, and the color of turquoise. If it wasn't for the Blight and the horrors that we'd left behind, this would have been a fine day.

I rubbed my eyes. At least we'd probably sleep in a bed tonight. That would be a welcome change from the hard ground.

"You know, I just realized something," Alistair said beside me, as he watched Zevran sleeping.

"What's that?"

"He always sleeps with a hand on his dagger. Have you noticed?"

I glanced at the assassin. "Yes." I looked back at the water and the tower growing ever larger. "I can't imagine what that's like. Not being able to rely on or trust anyone around you…ever."

Alistair turned and leaned on the railing. "Neither can I. The Chantry was…stifling at times. What with all the rules on how to behave, when to sleep, when to pray, when to…" He waved a hand. "Well, you get the idea. But even with the occasional fist-fight, I never had to worry about someone sticking a knife in my back."

I smiled. "You know, Zevran made the same complaint about the assassin's guild…about all the rules."

Alistair shook his head. "Maker's breath, please don't tell me we have something in common."

"All right, I won't."

The former templar sighed, then glanced back at Zevran. "You know, taking him along may not have been as bad an idea as I first thought."

I glanced at him. "Oh? What changed your mind?"

"Wellll, I can't say I approve of his fighting methods. But they are…effective. And he didn't try to stab any of us during the fight." He grimaced. "And he did apologize for…you know. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop keeping an eye on him."

"I wouldn't expect you to," I said.

Alistair nodded, and then we turned back to watching the tower coming ever nearer.


	24. Chapter 24

_Finally, landfall and Zevran notices an uncomfortable similarity between the mage tower and his Crow experience. Also, a few thoughts are shared on poetry, but no actual poems. Not yet, at least._

_Enjoy! _

* * *

**Zevran Arainai**

I've assassinated a mage or two in my time. There are poisons that drain mana out of a spell caster like water runs through a sieve. Since mages aren't trained to use weapons or defend themselves hand to hand, they're generally easy to take down after their mana is gone. Of course, that strategy really only works effectively when you're dealing with one mage, maybe two, if you're really good at knife-throwing. A tower full of them? Not so much, I think.

I woke up shortly before the boat pulled up alongside the dock on the small island in Lake Calenhad where the mages were kept. I stretched then joined my Warden and Alistair at the bow.

The tower loomed before us, five stories of thick, solid stone broken up by long narrow windows and narrow balconies. Men in the heavy armor of the Templars stood guard at the wide outer doors, which seemed to be the only entrance. Another pair stood watch near the dock.

"I'm thinking they don't teach the mages how to swim, do they?" I said.

Alistair frowned, then an odd look passed through his eyes when he turned to the Tower. If I hadn't known better – he was an ex-templar after all - I would have identified it as disapproval, but not at what I had just said.

A smaller door set into the wall on the left side of the massive front doors opened, and a human with short, grizzled hair and a beard, strode down a well-tended path towards the dock. His frown disappeared into a smile when he saw Darrian and Alistair hop onto the landing. I seemed to merit no more than a curious glance, but at the moment, I preferred to go unnoticed.

"It's good to see you again, Wardens. What brings you back to the tower?"

"With respect, Commander Greagoir, I prefer to speak with Master Enchanter Irving and you, together," Darrian said. The templar's eyes narrowed, then he motioned back along the path that led from the tower entrance to the docks.

"Very well. I'll take you to him. And if you're hungry, you've arrived just in time for dinner."

Unfortunately, Commander Greagoir also came with what was otherwise an excellent meal. I suppose if one is going to be locked away simply for what you are, the food might as well be good. Though, it seems a pity to spoil it by having to share it with people who were ready, and even eager in some cases, to stick a blade in you at a moment's notice for any reason. Hmmm, and how different was that from the first Crow house I had been taken to after I was purchased from the whorehouse? Fortunately, we dined in a rather pleasant room, empty of hovering templars, on the fourth floor of the tower which had a fine view of the western side of the lake.

Master Irving was long and lean and old, with eyes like daggers. He listened intently as Darrian laid out in clear concise words the situation we had encountered back in Redcliffe. Commander Greagoir's face went dark.

"An abomination," he muttered, his hand tightening on his knife.

"A child," Darrian said, and since I was sitting next to him, I felt the tension thrumming through his muscles.

"We have enough lyrium for the ritual," Master Irving said. "We'll leave as soon as we can in the morning."

"If it doesn't work, Irving… you know what must be done," Greagoir said.

The old man closed his eyes, and for a moment every year of his age showed on his face. But when he opened them, I saw fire and steel reflected in their depths.

"It won't come to that."

"I pray to the Maker you're right," Greagoir said very softly.

* * *

We were shown to rooms on the third floor of the tower - tiny, but clean and comfortable. It was too early for bed, and I was restless, so I went for a walk. Templar eyes followed me as I wandered down to the second floor, but no one stopped me.

Halfway around the curve of the tower, just after the chapel, I found the library. So many books stacked from floor to ceiling, with scarcely enough space to pass between the shelves. There were gaps here and there, probably tomes that were deemed too dangerous for mages to read.

They all seemed to be written in the language of Ferelden. And while I had been taught to read and write Antivan, my master for those studies hadn't thought it worth teaching us to read such a 'barbarous and uncivilized tongue' as Fereldan. So, it seemed I wouldn't find anything to pass the evening hours.

An open area in the center held tables and lamps, and templars with long sharp swords to keep watch over the mages studying. I turned and found my Warden one step inside the library. He glanced at me, and then at the books.

"I do know how to read and write. It was part of the…training," I said.

"I didn't think…your profession would include that." He hovered in the doorway.

"It included many things." None of which I really wanted to discuss at the moment. And the presence of all these armed guards hovering nearby was…unsettling. "Are there any balconies on this floor? I could use some fresh air."

Darrian glanced at a templar. "So could I," he murmured. "There are some near the guest rooms. I can show you."

Like the master enchanter's dining room, the balconies overlooked the western side of the lake. The sun was perched above the horizon like a fat gold sovereign, gilding the water the way it did in Antiva City harbor. For a moment, my longing for home was sweet and bitter.

Darrian leaned on the railing. "This has always been my favorite time of day."

"Mine is sunrise," I said. It meant I'd survived another night. I managed to keep that thought unspoken, though not the first. Before he could ask me anything about what little I'd said, I smiled and moved closer. He didn't move away, though I was almost touching him. You might have been able to slip the thickness of a blade between us.

"You seem surprised that the Crows taught us to read."

He nodded. I leaned back against the railing and folded my arms. "Not so hard to understand, my Warden. The nobles of Antiva are… for the most part… quite literate. And there is a tradition of fine poetry going back many centuries. There is a style that is exclusive to… lovers. And since noble marriages are made for reasons of convenience and political power, there is quite an extensive body of work." I smiled. "A tradition that is carried on to this day. Oh, and since a great deal of lip service is paid to the notion of fidelity…" I shrugged. "Well, you can see the possibilities, I'm sure."

"So, they taught you to read so you could find opportunities for extortion and blackmail." He glanced up at me through russet lashes, a smile crinkling his eyes.

"I would not have put it quite so bluntly, but yes. Not to mention the diaries many nobles keep, the secret notes passed back and forth when plotting against one's rivals, crooked merchants who alter their records to avoid paying taxes, that sort of thing."

He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers, and smiled sadly. "Funny, Duncan said much the same thing once to me…about being blunt." He looked up at me. "I told Cailan I killed an Arl's son for raping my friend when he asked how I had joined the Wardens."

I stared at him. I knew he had steel, but this…"Truly? You told the king this? And he didn't demand your head?"

"Yes and no, to each question." He straightened, resting his hands on the balustrade, and stared down into the water, glazed red by the setting sun. "I don't think he expected that answer. And I know Duncan talked to him about it."

"This Duncan must have had a great deal of influence to convince him to spare you."

"We were also facing the largest incursion of Darkspawn yet at Ostagar. We needed every weapon. So I think…pragmatism might have played a part as well."

He closed his eyes. "It was a nightmare. Alistair and I were supposed to light a beacon as a signal for Loghain to send in his troops to support the king and the Wardens. The tower was infested with Darkspawn when we got there. Except for one guard and a mage, everyone else was dead. We fought our way to the top - and lit the beacon."

He looked at me, steel and stone in his voice as he continued. "Loghain…quit the field. He betrayed the king…and the Wardens. Alistair and I only survived because Morrigan's mother saved us. Though she was decidedly vague about just how she did that. We were both unconscious from wounds when she rescued us."

"And then Loghain hired the Crows to finish the job when he learned you survived."

Darrian nodded. "There were thousands of them, Zevran. The grass withered beneath their feet. They swarmed over the troops like a black scythe, cutting down everything before them. They'll cut down the world if we don't stop them."


	25. Chapter 25

_Many thanks to those who've added this story to favs/alerts. And to all the reviewers. Just broke 40. You guys are awesome and your support and encouragement is much appreciated. Glad you're enjoying my tale. Thanks, once again, to brownc0at for the beta. Last, but not least, to all you lurkers in the shadows._

_Our little band has returned from the tower with the lyrium and the mages for the ritual. Now comes 'the hardest part.' Waiting._

* * *

** Darrian Tabris**

We made it back to the castle just before sunset. Zevran had been uncharacteristically silent the whole trip back. Alistair remarked when I mentioned this that at least he didn't have to deal with the man's constant flirting and comments about…'you know.'

I had taken Master Irving aside on the ride back and told him about Jowan. He didn't seem too comfortable with my suggestion to let Jowan confront the demon. But he did agree to think about it.

"Thank the Maker," I heard Alistair whisper when we returned to Redcliffe Castle and found it, if not peaceful, at least quiet. Wynne, Leliana, and Tam were also waiting in the main hall with Teagan when we returned. Sten was still keeping watch in the hallway outside Connor's room. I wondered if the qunari had slept at all while we were gone.

We waited in the main hall with Teagan while a guard fetched Jowan. The mage seemed to have been reasonably well treated during our absence. His bruises had faded to mottled yellow, and while the tunic and pants he wore were worn and faded, they were at least clean. He stood quietly, his eyes down.

"Darrian has suggested to me that you be allowed to confront the demon," Irving said.

"First Enchanter, I protest," Commander Gregoir said, his eyes narrow and hard. "This man is a maleficar. He's attacked templars with blood magic."

"Oh, pardon him for trying to survive," Morrigan said.

"Morrigan, please." She glared at me, then stalked out of the room.

"Please, First Enchanter. I know what I've done is wrong. Let me make it right. Let me redeem myself."

"First Enchanter," Wynne said, stepping forward. "Doesn't the Chant teach us to make amends for the wrongs we've done? To seek forgiveness from those we've injured?"

"Blood magic," Commander Gregoir muttered and fingered the hilt of his sword. The First Enchanter's eyes met mine, then he turned back to Jowan.

"What if the demon takes possession of him?" Gregoir said.

"That is why you are here, Commander." Jowan flinched, but then he met Irving's eyes, and didn't look away.

"Let Jowan try," Irving said. Gregoir studied the blood mage for a long moment, then gave a curt nod and followed as Jowan was led away to where the mages, who'd come with us, were preparing the ritual.

"What now, First Enchanter?" I asked.

"Now? We can only wait. I would ask that you do that here. It's vital that the mages aren't disturbed while they're conducting the ritual, and Jowan is in the Fade confronting the demon. There's no way of telling how long that will take. Time passes differently there." Then he inclined his head and left.

Teagan motioned to a table where a simple meal of fried fish and potatoes had been set out.

"Please, it's not much. But we've restored some order to the castle."

We joined him at the table, but none of us seemed inclined to eat much. Alistair didn't even touch his food. I think Tam was the only one with any appetite. The mabari was quite happy with the generous scraps he received. After dinner, he settled down by the fire and dozed off.

I was never good at waiting. So I asked Teagan if there was a place where I could go for weapon practice.

"I could use some practice myself," Zevran said.

Teagan had a guard show us to an indoor practice yard. The guard lingered a moment, then left.

I stripped off my armor and laid it on a side table. After wearing the supple leather every day since I'd left Denerim, it had come to feel like a second skin. I felt vulnerable without it, more so when I remembered I'd just stripped it off in front of the man who'd been hired to kill me. And was now trying to bed me.

But when I turned I saw Zevran had also stripped down to pants. He smiled and saluted me with his sword before moving into a warm-up routine. He flowed through it, gliding from one stance to the next, muscles rippling under honey skin. His form smooth. Flawless. He stepped so lightly. I caught myself thinking how beautiful he was. But all that fluid grace had been trained for only one purpose.

But then, wasn't I being trained for only one purpose, as well? I pulled out my weapons and began my own dance. We practiced separately, but somewhere in the middle of the dance, we came together. Steel chimed against steel, sword against dagger and dagger blocking sword.

We were both panting from the exercise, and his skin had a rosy flush under the golden tones. His amber eyes shone.

He whirled away and came at me low with both blades. I jumped over them, and then pivoted on landing, my dagger at waist level and my sword high. He'd anticipated perfectly. Grinning, he danced back and went for a two handed sweep. A move that looks pretty, but is pointless, since it robs the dagger of its defensive role in two-weapon fighting. I skipped back and tossed my dagger into a corner. He did the same.

We came back to the center, one sword against one sword. We danced so well together. Then he cast aside his sword, and mine followed with a ringing chime of steel. He circled low, grinning like a cat, his hands held up. My foot lashed out. He caught it, twisted, and I landed on my backside, hard. I winced. He surged forward and pinned me beneath him, his strong hands closing around my forearms and pressing them against the cool gray stone.

His eyes glittered, and under the sheen of sweat, his skin glowed. He leaned closer, smiling, till strands of his hair brushed my face. His lips a breath from mine, my heart sped up, and desire, hot and sweet, surged through me. Pressed tight against me, he had to feel it…as I felt his.

* * *

_Comments/feedback are always welcome._


	26. Chapter 26

_Once again, thanks to those who've added this story to favorites/alerts. And taken the time to give a review. Your support and words are much appreciated. _

* * *

**Zevran Arainai**

I hadn't planned on using a practice session to seduce my Warden. But like him, I was restless and needed the release of movement, since no other physical outlet was available. And he made no objection when I followed him to the indoor training yard.

Now, he lay beneath me, flushed and panting from the exercise…and desire. His gray eyes glittered in the flickering lamplight. The tattoos on his face shimmered beneath a layer of sweat. I wondered if he knew their meaning, or if they were just some random design he had chosen because they suited his features. Of course, I knew their meaning no more than he probably did, only that they had one.

Other things had my more immediate attention at the moment. I leaned closer. Such a prime opportunity should not be wasted.

"Well, my dear Warden, we seem to be in a most…interesting position here. If I didn't know better, I'd –"

"Does everything come down to sex for you, Zevran?"

I chuckled. "Not quite everything. But it is a most pleasant pastime, yes?"

He turned his head, and it was with some effort that I resisted nuzzling his cheek. He was a most desirable creature, though he seemed delightfully unaware of that. When he looked back, his eyes still glittered, and there were sparks in their depths, like the morning stars in the gray light of pre-dawn. But I had a feeling they weren't from desire, despite the rather prominent bulge pressed against my inner thigh, so close to my own need.

"There's a child upstairs-"

"A _shem_ child."

"A child," he said more forcefully. "He can't be more than nine-"

"And as I told you, I was seven when the Crows bought me from an Antivan whorehouse. Shall I tell you what happened to those who weren't so lucky to fetch a good price?" He tensed beneath me, and I tightened my grip on his arms. "Death is preferable to some things, many things, perhaps. I think you understand this, yes?"

His eyes softened. "Yes, I understand. But why shouldn't we try to find another way if we can?"

He seemed so young, and I felt so old at that moment, though there were only a few years between us.

"Death comes for everyone, Warden. If not from a sword, then a fall down the stairs, or a wasting sickness. A blade, at least, is quick and clean."

"Perhaps I should tell First Enchanter Irving to let you wield the killing blow then, if it comes to that. I'd trust your blade over the templars."

Of everything he could have said, I had never expected that. My heart skipped, and a shiver passed through me. I stared down at him, not knowing what to think, then I twisted up and away to retrieve my weapons from the floor. I started when I felt his hand on my shoulder after I picked up my dagger.

"I meant what I said, Zevran."

I turned and found myself staring at him again. He did mean it. I saw that in his face, as I saw the pain in his eyes when he said it. I suspect he could have hidden that, but he let me witness it. His hand dropped off my shoulder.

"When I was fifteen, templars came into the Alienage looking for a runaway from the tower. Marlena told us her parents had been killed by bandits as they were traveling to Denerim from Highever. So, Valendrian, our elder, took her in. The templars were only a few days behind her." His hands tightened into fists. "I liked her. She was kind and funny, even if she seemed so sad. When the templars took her, I had the foolish notion that I could save her, like a hero in one of those silly tales, so I followed them."

"The _shem_ didn't see you?"

"My mother was very good at hiding. She made sure I was better than her before she died." He opened his hands. "I trailed them to an abandoned house near the river at the edge of the Alienage. They didn't kill her right away. They all took a turn…and there were five of them. And when they finally pulled their swords…:" He faltered, a shudder passing through him. My hands tightened on my weapons. "You see, during the rape…they…talked. I found out that there were seven that had set out after her. She had killed two of them." His eyes went stone hard, and the stones around my heart shifted. I felt the ground give way beneath them at his next words. "By the time they finished, the pieces of her that remained were no bigger than my hand."

He sagged against the stone wall then, and slid down it till he was sitting, his head resting on his crossed arms. After a moment, I sank down beside him. He was shaking, just a little. My own hands trembled, and I didn't try to stop it. Or slow the racing of my heart.

The stones around my soul cracked, split further apart, and that hurt, but it felt like it would hurt more to push them back together. As for what he'd just asked of me, if the demon took full and complete possession…Maker, that was…hard. I prayed that arrow he'd loosed would fly straight and true.

He lifted his head and looked at me, the memory so clear in his eyes. "I still dream about it sometimes. I never told anyone what I saw. The day after they left, the house burned to the ground."

"Your work?"

"We never did find out who set the fire."

"The other Warden…Alistair…he doesn't know this story, does he?"

"Don't tell him."

I laid my hand over my heart. "My word, Warden. I won't"

He reached up and touched my face, let his eyes and fingers linger on the blue serpentine lines that curved down the side of my cheek before pulling his hand away. So light, so brief, and yet, more intimate and burning than a lover's caress in the midst of passion.

No, my Warden, I thought behind the cracked stones in my heart, not everything comes down to sex. But if something didn't, where would I put it? Where could I keep it?


	27. Chapter 27

_I want to thank people for the awesome reviews and those who've added this to alerts/avorites. Your support and comments are greatly appreciated. And, of course, thanks also go to brownc0at for being my beta and keeping me on the straight and narrow grammar path. And to all the lurkers in the shadows, you know who youare. Last, but by no means least, to Bioware for letting me play with their toys. I promise to take good care of them._

_As always, comments/feedback is always welcome.  
_

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**Darrian Tabris**

I looked down at Zevran's hand lying palm up on the floor. For the first time since he'd joined us, I thought the invitation it suggested wasn't a deliberate design on his part. He stared at a lamp on the opposite wall, the flame flickering in the depths of his eyes. Sweat-damp strands of gold hair clung to his forehead. In a corner of my mind, still distracted by his nearness and the recent surge of desire, I wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked.

Maker's breath, as Alistair was fond of swearing, I had just told him something I hadn't even told Soris, my cousin, and we were close as brothers. I had told him because I thought Zevran understood that kind of pain better than Soris ever could have, for all I loved him. The memory felt…lighter. It still hurt, but like a healing wound, not one newly made.

Zevran's hand lay between us, like a wish. I wanted to take it and feel the warm flesh of one of my people pressed against mine. I wanted to feel connected to something other than steel and death. I wanted to pull him down, right then, right there and lose myself in heat, if only to escape, for a little while, from memories of blood.

Wynne spoke always of duty and sacrifice. I'd been a Grey Warden long enough to understand and accept that steel and blood were part of those obligations. But Blessed Creators, there had to be more to life, even for a Warden, than running from one battle to the next. Maybe Zevran was just playing a seduction game. But looking at him, as he stared at the lamp, his face open in a way I hadn't seen before…I didn't think he was, not now, anyway. His desire, hot and hard, pressed against my thigh, had been real enough.

He sat so still, the back of his head now resting against the wall, as he focused on the lamp, his breathing even and steady. I swallowed. I should have gotten up, gathered my armor and weapons, and headed back to the main hall to wait for word from Irving. What I should have done warred with what I wanted to do. The battle didn't last long.

He started when I slipped my fingers between his. I moved closer and laid my head on his right shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of his leg against my own. His fingers tightened around mine as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, savoring his scent. The musk of sweat and desire, sweet thyme and some exotic spice from that oil he 'doused himself in.' And something else that was uniquely him.

"This doesn't mean I'm asking you to share my bed. Not just yet, anyway."

I turned and laid my other hand on his left shoulder, between the curve of his neck and where it sloped into his arm. His skin was so smooth and warm. Making love to him would be like caressing silk and flame. Beneath my fingers, I felt his muscles tighten then relax as his body curved towards mine.

His fingers brushed my skin, tracing the path of the _vallaslin _painted across my right cheek. "Ah, but you want to, yes? I can promise you won't be disappointed." Soft, throaty, almost a purr, his words sent a shiver through my loins.

I smiled. "Yes, I want to."

He nuzzled my hair. "You have no idea how refreshing your directness is. I despaired of ever being able to discuss pleasure in a civilized manner in this country."

I lifted my head so I could look at him. "Zevran, it's been…a while… since I've had a partner. But there's too much going on just now. Between Connor and Eamon…and trying to keep Morrigan and Alistair from each other's throats..."

He chuckled, and his fingers wandered over my neck. "Yes, I did notice our dear ex-templar has a knack for stirring her up." His hand shifted so that his palm rested against my cheek. His hand was warm and light as sunlight against my skin. "Sex can be a great reliever of tension, my Warden." His voice went low and blatantly seductive. "And I know a great many ways to release tension."

I smiled and glanced at our entwined hands. "I know a few myself," I murmured.

"Only a few? Then your lovers were negligent in their teaching. A deficiency in your education I'll have to remedy. Might I suggest we start with-"

I kissed him then. Not that I wasn't curious about his suggestions, but if he kept on, I was going to lose what shreds of self-control I had left. The moment my lips touched his, desire swelled and my free hand slipped up and tangled in his hair. His hand slid to the back of my neck. His fingers caressed me as his tongue found mine and I moaned. The kiss deepened and my hands tightened on him. Ah, Creators, perhaps I should have done something other than kiss him.

I drank fire from his mouth, caught his soft sounds of pleasure in the back of my throat, felt desire prowling under my skin, digging in deep. His fingers trailed around the curve of my neck and across my throat and down my chest, weaving strands of fire over my skin. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, suckling, nibbling gently. When he finally released it, I pulled back and laid my hand on his chest. I felt my heart beating faster, felt his running to the same rapid pace beneath my palm. A rosy flush spread across his chest, drawing attention to the handful of intricate endless blue knots scattered across his torso like a handful of flowers. Some were made of delicate feathers, while the rest were twisting vines.

He smiled and gently folded his hand around mine on his chest. "Well, they certainly taught you how to kiss."

I sighed and rested my forehead against his. "Among other things. But I should warn you, I've never found sex good at 'relieving tension.' Not in the way most people mean, anyway."

"Hmm, so how do you handle it? Tension that doesn't come from desire itself, that is." Ah, Creators, the way he drew out the word desire, like a cat purring over some luscious morsel.

I slipped up and away from him to retrieve my weapons. He gazed up at me, studying me as I moved through the sword forms drilled into me so long ago.

"Truly, this relieves tension for you?"

I stopped and re-sheathed my blades. "Yes, you do the forms slow and focus on breathing…on balance…on where every muscle is and how to move your blades. You do it slow, so when you have to do it fast, you don't have to think about it." I smiled. "Then you move through them again and again, picking up the pace, till you feel ready to drop."

His eyes narrowed. "I see why you survived Ostagar and the Circle Tower." He left the rest unspoken, so I said it for him.

"And you?"

He rose to his feet, his eyes clear and steady. "And me. Technically, I should say I'm disappointed by that, but only because of professional pride, you understand. To be honest, I prefer you alive." His smile shifted from amused to seductive, and my heart skipped. "Not just because I want to see you naked, either, but because-"I felt the blood rushing to my ear tips and he interrupted himself, his forehead wrinkling. "Why do you blush like that?"

I sighed. "Because I'm still Fereldan." I turned and started collecting my armor. It hadn't been his words, but his tones and everything they implied, mixed with everything I'd been missing for the last year-and-a-half.

"Must be something in the water," I heard Zevran mutter behind me, but he sounded amused. I helped him gather up his gear.

"A question, my Warden?"

"What?" I handed him his dagger.

He slipped it back into its sheath. "How will we know when the demon is slain?"

"I…guess the First Enchanter will tell us."

He tilted his head. "Not to be flippant, but how will _he_ know?"

"You could ask Morrigan."

His laughter was low and throaty. "Ah, I think not. She sees an honest question as an opportunity to sharpen that weapon she calls a tongue." He pulled on his own shirt then gathered up his armor and headed for the door.

"Honest question? I think she sees any question as an opportunity," I said, trailing behind him.

His laughter floated back. "At least it keeps life interesting. What would we do without such entertainment on the long road, yes?"

I stopped, something occurring to me I hadn't thought of before. "Is that why you keep flirting with her...and everyone else, to lighten the mood?"

He paused, and then pivoted, arching a brow at me. "I flirt with her because she's a beautiful woman… as is Leliana."

"Wynne is old enough to be your grandmother."

"Yes, but she's still lovely. I know women half her age who have not held up half so well."

I sighed and followed after him as he sauntered down the hall.

Halfway back to the main room, we ran into Alistair. He brushed past Zevran and gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"He did it," he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes brimming with emotion. "The blood mage did it. The demon is dead."

His shoulders sagged, though he was still gripping mine. "Maker's breath, I don't think I …" Then he looked at me. "Thank you, my friend." He squeezed then released me and rubbed a hand across his face. "Got something in my eye."

Zevran smirked but said nothing.

"Look, there's something you need to know," Alistair said. "I meant to tell you earlier, but then we got caught up defending the village, and you really need to hear this from me and not someone else. And I know this isn't the best time, but I'm not sure if there's ever a good time for something like this and…" He stopped and made a face. "Oh, Maker, I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"Just a little," I said, and tried not to smile when Zevran chuckled.

Alistair sighed, and then seemed to notice my arms full of leather armor.

"Here, let me give you a hand with that," he said, reaching for my cuirass. "Bann Teagan's set aside some rooms. But I'm afraid we'll have to share since the castle is still a mess."

"Share a room? As in sharing a bed? I'm game," Zevran said.

Alistair twisted around. "You…can sleep on the floor."

"Ah, you break my heart. Here I thought we were starting to get along so well."

"Not that well," Alistair muttered, stalking off down the hall, carrying half my armor. "Never that well."

We caught up with him a few seconds later when he ducked into a spacious room at the end of the hall on the left. It held two beds, several chests and a large oak table.

Alistair laid my armor on the table, and I piled the rest of my gear next to it. Zevran laid his beside mine. Standing by a narrow window, his arms folded, Alistair looked ready to jump out of his skin.

"Well, I'll just leave you two alone," Zevran said with a smirk.

"No, wait…" Alistair said, and then flushed.

Zevran opened his mouth, then glanced at me and closed it. He shrugged and lounged against the wall, his arms folded.

"You both should hear this, and then I'll go tell the others." He pulled in a deep breath. "You know I was pretty much raised in the Chantry…" I nodded and leaned back against the edge of the table. "Before that, I lived here under Arl Eamon's care. You see… I'm a bastard." He threw Zevran a pointed look. "And not that kind. My mother was a maid in Denerim castle. My father was…King Maric."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I thought maybe Alistair had been orphaned and that the Chantry had taken him in. But never this…that he was brother to Cailan.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked, as gently as I could. He looked ready to bolt.

He sighed. "I should of, but I was…afraid of how you would react. People…treat me differently when they find out. At the Chantry, the children of commoners thought I was stuck-up, and the noble-born told me I didn't belong there. All of them acting like I wanted to be king." He shook his head. "I don't."

Alistair shifted from foot to foot, looking at the floor, then out the window, then at the wall behind me, looking everywhere but at me. I'd fought beside him for months now and trusted him with my back. We'd survived Ostagar, darkspawn, the mage tower, Redcliffe, and the occasional drinking binge. He looked…afraid… as he never did when fighting. Afraid I would treat him differently. Why would I? He might drive me to the edge of my temper sometimes, but he was my friend.

"So, you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard."

He stared at me a moment, then laughed. "I may have to use that."

I pushed away from the table and squeezed his shoulder. "You're my friend, Alistair."

For a moment, it looked like he was going to rub his eyes again, but then he grinned and straightened. "Well, now that that's over with."

"If I may ask, how did you end up in the Chantry if you were given to Arl Eamon's care?"

Alistair grimaced. "That was Lady Isolde's doing. She thought I was Eamon's. When she got pregnant with Connor, she decided it would be in the best interest of her child if I was gone. She convinced him to send me away."

"Ah, that explains the so cordial welcome she gave you when she saw you," Zevran said.

"Yes…well…even so, he was good to me when I was here. He even came to see me in the Chantry. Even though I wasn't very…friendly to him." Alistair looked at me. "I'm glad you were able to find a way to get rid of that demon without…without killing Connor. I think that would have broken him." He punched me lightly on the shoulder. "Now that that manly moment is over with, I should go tell the others."

I sank onto the bed after he left. Blessed Creators, Lady Isolde was a selfish creature. I understood her desire to protect her child, but did she think of no one but herself?

"Well, this certainly feels like home," Zevran remarked as he glided over to sit beside me on the bed and started pulling off his boots. That seemed an odd thing to say.

"This reminds you of home?"

He dropped his right boot on the thick blue carpet, then started tugging on the other one. "Antiva has something of a tradition of royal bastards laying claim to the throne."

"Alistair doesn't want to rule."

Zevran turned to me. "He may not have a choice, my Warden. Cailan left no heir, yes? That means Alistair is the only one with a direct blood claim to the throne." He grunted as he pulled off his left boot. "Have you considered that Loghain may have taken out a contract on you and your fellow Warden for more than one reason?"

I stared at the floor and heard a soft thud as Zevran's other boot hit the floor.

His suggestion made sense, too much sense. I had assumed Loghain wanted to blame the Wardens for Cailan's death, and then get rid of the last two under the pretence that they were traitors to hide his betrayal. And if one of them just happened to have a claim to the throne?

My hands tightened on the bed as I felt battle heat rising in my blood. We were facing a Blight that could ravage the world, and the man who should have been trying to unite us against it could see no further than his own ambition. If Loghain had been within my sword's reach at that moment, I would have taken his head.

"My Warden?" Zevran's voice, so close I felt his breath on my face. Then the light touch of his hand on my chin and a gentle tug.

His amber eyes were luminous. All the heat I'd felt in the practice room when I had lain pinned beneath him came rushing back. I saw my desire reflected in his eyes…and his lips were so close.


	28. Chapter 28

_Many thanks to those who've added this to favorites/alerts and taken the time to review. Your comments and support are much appeciated. I always enjoy hearing what people key in on in a story. Thanks once again to brownc0at for the beta thing. And, of course, to Bioware for letting me play with their toys._

_Ok, there's a bit of an AU slant to this chapter and the next few. In DA:O, the game has you traipsing all over Ferelden looking for Andraste's ashes to cure Eamon. While I enjoyed the quest and loved the graphics of the temple, it never seemed like the best way to solive the problem of Eamon's 'illness.' Without modern medicine, IV's and anti-biotics, etc, it's highly unlikely an unconscious man, (unable to eat and drink) would survive long enough to survive weeks of waiting. Spoonng water into someone always carries the risk of aspirating it into the lungs, resulting in infection. So, I wote an alternate solution to Eamon's little problem. Hope you enjoy it.  
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**Zevran Arainai**

My Warden was tight as a drawn bowstring, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing and flexing, as though he wanted to pull his sword. Considering the topic of our just finished conversation, I had a fairly good idea whose blood he would like to see dripping off of it. Combine that with four days with little sleep, two of those fighting the walking dead, not to mention fighting for the life of a child, and he was ready to snap. All that unresolved tension was going to go somewhere, and not necessarily in the best direction. Probably a very bad direction. And if sex hadn't released that sort of tension for him in the past, well, he hadn't had me as a lover, had he?

I eased closer and called to him in a soft voice, the kind a lover uses, and touched his face lightly. Ah, he had such beautiful eyes, grey but threaded through with flecks of turquoise and emerald that glittered when he was roused…and not just by desire.

His breathing quickened. A faint flush spread down his neck and into his chest. His lips parted, and he leaned in till they just brushed mine. Then he gripped my shoulders and rested his forehead against mine.

"This is not the best time."

My fingers brushed his cheek. "Trust me, my Warden, there is never a 'best time.' And I'm not saying that just because I want to get you naked. Though that is a most pleasant thought." He pulled back to look at me, but kept his hands on my shoulders. I fingered a loose strand of his hair, like russet amber, and watched it curl around my finger.

He gazed at me a moment, then kissed me on the lips, very lightly and very gently, as if I were something fragile. Then he slipped out of my hands and out of the room.

"_Mierde," _I muttered and fell back on the bed to stare at the dusty cobwebs on the ceiling, my loins throbbing. He hadn't said yes, but he hadn't said no. And I wasn't even sure if there was a 'maybe' in there. If he were anyone else, I would think him a tease, but he didn't seem the type. He was too direct in his dealings. But Maker, why did Fereldans make desire so complicated? How did the whorehouses stay in business?

I drew in a deep breath and focused on getting my desires back under control.

"Ah, there you are," Wynne said from the doorway. Fortunately, by this time, my blood had cooled.

I propped myself up on my arms.

"You were looking for me, my lovely one?" Now that did surprise me.

She glided into the room and folded her arms. "I have something important I'd like to discuss with you, and I prefer not to waste time or words fencing around the only topic you ever seem to think about."

"It's not the only thing," I said, sitting up. "Sometimes, I think about thinking about it."

She glared at me. "Do not try my patience. I have little of it these days."

The temperature in the room dropped and a cold breeze brushed across my face. Her hands tightened on her arms and her head bowed. After a few moments the room warmed up, and she looked at me again, like a mother ready to rebuke a child. I thought it prudent not to tease her any further. In her own way, she was a more powerful mage than Morrigan.

I leaned forward and took an easy pose. "All right, you've found me. What do you wish?" I just managed to keep the 'fair one' off the tip of my tongue, though it insisted on hovering there.

"As an assassin, I'm sure you're familiar with a variety of poisons."

I cocked my head. "Ah, a professional consultation. I assume you're looking for an antidote for whatever that Jowan mage slipped into the Arl's food or drink."

She nodded.

"Yes, his wife did mention something about him not responding to the healers. Not even you?"

She sighed and settled in one of the chairs at the table. "No, not even me. Whatever bargain that poor child made with the demon, it only kept the Arl from completely fading away. He is still unconscious, and if he doesn't wake soon, he'll die."

"So, how do you think I can help? The demon could have purged the poison, then done something else to him."

She smoothed a wrinkle in her skirts. "I don't think it did. A body afflicted by poison has a certain…feel to it, different from one ravaged by an illness."

"And this is how Arl Eamon feels?"

She nodded. I sighed and reached for my boots. I had a feeling this was going to be a long night, and not the enjoyable kind of long.

"I need to see Jowan, if that will be permitted. Without knowing what kind of poison he used, the wrong antidote could be worse than useless." I looked up from pulling on my boots. "Aside from the fact that he's unconscious, how is the arl?"

"His breathing and heartbeat are strong and steady." Her still lovely face went thoughtful. "It's almost as if he were sleeping."

"_Mierde, _that's not good,_"_ I said, giving a last jerk to my left boot.

"Which means-…?"

"Nothing that should be translated in such lovely company, my dear Wynne. And please, permit me that small flattery."

She sighed and rose. "All right, but what did you mean by, 'that's not good'? Did you recognize the poison?"

I rose and straightened my shirt. "There are a fair number of possibilities. Only a few of which have an antidote. If it is one of those, the remedy should still be effective even at this time. If not…" I shrugged.

"How can you be so cavalier about death?" She actually sounded surprised.

"I'm an assassin, and you're asking me this?" I didn't mean to be flippant, but sometimes these things just…come out. Old habits are hard to shake.

The room went cold, then warm again. She rubbed her temples. "Child, you drive me to distraction." Then she sighed and rose. "Come, I'll see if I can convince the First Enchanter to let you speak with Jowan."

"Ah, one thing I would request of you."

She turned in the doorway. "What is it?"

"The First Enchanter doesn't need to know of my…profession, I think."

She arched a brow. "Oh, were _you_ planning on telling him?"

I laughed and motioned for her to lead the way.


	29. Chapter 29

_As always, thank to those who've reviewed and added this story to alerts/favorites. Your support is greatly appreciated. Especially, brownc0at's, for the beta thing that keeps me on the straight and narrow grammar path. _

_Enjoy, and feedback is always welcome._

_

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**Darrian Tabris**

I leaned my forearms against the wall just outside the door to the chapel and rested my head against them, wondering if I should release Zevran from his word and let him find his own way. Ferelden was a big place. He could disappear inside it and he was more than capable of defending himself. It was going to take many more months to raise the army we needed. Months spent in close company with someone I hungered for more than anyone I'd ever met. I couldn't afford that kind of distraction, not when it seemed that the fate of Ferelden, maybe even Thedas, hung on every bloody decision I made. For a moment, I wanted to punch Alistair. He was the senior Warden. It should have been him that was leading us, not me.

Turning, I leaned back against the wall and sighed. It wasn't his fault that the Chantry had raised him to obedience, to follow instead of lead, serving their interests. At least he'd been able to escape before they addicted him to lyrium.

As for Zevran…I rubbed my eyes. I still tasted his lips, felt the heat of desire in my blood. He'd given his oath of service to me, which meant I was obligated to protect him. I couldn't do that if I sent him away. But I didn't think I could stay in control if he remained. I shouldn't have kissed him in the practice room. His hair had been as soft as it looked, and his lips…

I hugged my arms, gazing at the ceiling, caught between desire and duty. Why couldn't they, for bloody once, be the same? Yes, and if wishes were sovereigns, we'd all be wealthy men, as my father was fond of saying.

The door to the chapel opened, and Alistair slipped out. He stopped, clearly surprised to see me there. He glanced back inside the candle-lit room.

"Oh, I thought you didn't…"

I pushed away from the wall. "I don't. I was just taking a walk. How's Connor? And the Arl?"

He closed the door gently behind him. "Connor is sleeping. After Jowan killed the demon, the boy collapsed, but Wynne said he'll be all right. And she…" He looked around and lowered his voice. "Connor doesn't seem to really remember what happened. As far as he knows, he's just been very sick, delirious with fever…and lots of bad dreams."

"Is that what Wynne told him?"

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes…it's for the best, I guess. He's a child. And…Greagoir wasn't very happy about lying to him, but he agreed." He sighed. "Going to the tower is going to be hard enough on Connor without him knowing he became an abomination. And, oh, Maker's breath, as for the Arl…" Alistair's head sagged, then he looked up. "I was going to look for Wynne to see if there had been any change now that the demon's gone."

We headed for the main hall, but only Teagan was there, nursing a small cup of wine.

"She said something about looking for the Antivan," he said, when Alistair asked if he knew where Wynne was.

We went back to the bedroom, but it was empty.

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered. "And this is one bloody big castle." He frowned. "Why would she want to talk to Zevran?"

"He knows about poisons?"

He groaned. "Oh, I am an idiot."

"You've only just realized this?" Morrigan said, behind us. Alistair whirled.

"You…stop sneaking around… you…"

"Have you seen Wynne or Zevran?" I asked, stepping between them.

Morrigan waved a hand down the hall, in the direction of the chapel. "I left them in the herbal room. It's down the hall from the…chapel." She arched a brow at Alistair. "Those health potions you guzzle like ale don't make themselves."

His jaw clenched, Alistair stalked down the hall, Morrigan's tawny eyes following him.

"Why do you do that?" I asked, my patience with their carping worn thin. "Must you constantly bait him?"

"Why do you constantly defend him? He'll never learn to stand on his own if there's always someone around to prop him up. Fine king he'll make." She smiled. "Now you…"

"Don't even suggest it," I said, throwing up my hands. "I have even less desire to be king than Alistair."

Morrigan just shrugged and sauntered away, her hips swaying. I grabbed a hold of my temper and set off after Alistair.


	30. Chapter 30

** Zevran Arainai**

I studied the small glass vial that had held the poison Jowan had slipped into Arl Eamon's cup of wine the evening before the mess with the walking dead had started. Instead of destroying and disposing of the evidence, he'd merely hidden it back under a loose stone in his bedroom floor. Ah, amateurs.

I tilted the vial and watched as the thick pale yellow drop crawled down the side of the glass. Jowan had been warned about not letting it touch his skin, and that it had to be mixed with wine to be most effective. Based on the rest of our conversation, in between all the statements of regret and the self-flagellation, I gathered that Loghain - or more likely, Arl Howe, since he had the much more devious mind- had seized on Jowan as a golden opportunity to eliminate a rival. They wouldn't have obtained the poison from the Crows. Guild rules forbade the sale of such commodities to outsiders. So, probably something local and easy to obtain, which eliminated the more exotic poisons.

"Based on what you told me of Eamon's condition, about his initial thirst and increasing weakness, what Jowan told me, and this," I held up the vial, "there are two possibilities, my dear Wynne, Demon's Breath flower, or a venom extract from a nasty little snake called a Golden Adder. I believe both are common in Ferelden."

She was settled on the stool next to me, one forearm resting on the workbench. She watched me tilting the vial, and there were shadows under her eyes. It seemed my Warden wasn't the only one who hadn't been sleeping much, and she was far from young.

"I've heard of both," she said. "Is there an antidote for them?"

I placed the vial on the scarred workbench. "Yes, but unfortunately the plant that provides the seeds for the antidote to Demon's Breath doesn't even bloom till mid-summer. And the plant itself is rare. As for the adder's antidote…" I waved a hand at the well-stocked shelves. "It's not something I'd expect to find in a healer's workroom."

"What isn't what you'd expect to find?" Alistair said, holding the door open and glaring. Darrian stood just behind him, his jaw tight.

"An antidote to snake poison," Wynne said, gesturing towards the vial.

"I'm still not sure that's what it is," I said. "There are two possibilities, and both are odorless."

"Maybe you could taste it," Alistair said through clenched teeth.

Darrian stepped around him, laying a hand on Alistair's arm. "We ran into Morrigan on the way here."

"Oh, Maker's balls," Wynne muttered, and even I turned to stare at her. She waved a hand at us. "Don't look so surprised. Age has its privileges."

Alistair shook himself like a wet dog, and then moved aside so Darrian could enter. My Warden eased over, his arms folded and gazed at the vial.

"Is there any way to tell?"

"Not with anything here," I said. "And I don't think the Crows back in Denerim are going to let me just dance into their herbarium then out again, even if we could get there and return before the Arl dies." There was another possibility. "We could collect an adder or two and-"

"Maker's breath, why would you do that?"

"Because, my dear ex-templar, the antidote to snake venom is made from its source."

His brow wrinkled. "You're saying what kills him will…cure him?"

Wynne laid a hand on his arm. "Yes, my dear, that's exactly what he's saying."

"Will it work?" Alistair asked her. Wynne looked at me.

"If that's what the original poison was…yes," I said, then I turned to Wynne. "I will need your assistance in preparing the antidote. Part of the process requires the talents of a healing mage."

"And if it wasn't snake venom?" Darrian asked, his eyes still on the vial.

I made sure not to shrug this time. "Then he dies."

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After an uncomfortable night of sleeping on the floor, the two Wardens and I left just before sunrise. Neither of them looked liked they had had a better night's sleep than me, despite the soft beds.

"You're sure those snakes can be found around here?" Alistair asked, for the fourth time, as we picked our way down the narrow trail through a dense pine forest that bordered the lake.

"I could toss you into a fire bush and we could find out," I said. He muttered something, but I couldn't quite make out the words. He was getting better at hiding his comments. Now, if only he could manage to keep that up around Morrigan.

The trail disappeared into sand around the lake. The sun peeked between the pines, throwing long pointed shadows across the still water. Somewhere above us, a hawk called. Darrian shaded his eyes against the rising sun and scanned the far edge of the lake. The early sun picked amber highlights out of his russet hair.

The human gazed around, one hand resting on his sword hilt. "Why hunt for them at sunrise?"

"They'll still be sluggish from the cool night. Easier to catch," I said, and headed for a clump of deep red fire bushes. The snakes liked to nest among the thick roots. I pulled the makeshift catch-pole I had fashioned last night off my belt, and held it with one hand. The end of the pole was carved with a deep narrow groove, designed to hold the snake in place.

The first clump of bushes I inspected was empty. As were the second and the third, and the one after that.

"I thought you said they were common," Alistair said, glaring at me, after the fifth attempt.

"So are bedbugs, but do you find them in every inn?" I cautiously parted the branches of another bush close to a pile of rocks.

"Now why am I not surprised you would think of that comparison?"

It was my turn to mutter, but in Antivan. I was rather attached to my limbs. My Warden was curiously silent, standing behind both of us. I focused back on the bush in front of me and caught flashes of bright yellow from two snakes

"Get the bag ready," I said, intent on a snake. One of them uncoiled slowly and I jabbed down with the pole, catching it just behind the head. When I turned around, holding it just behind the jaws, Alistair was standing and holding the open leather bag at arm's length.

"I'd thought they'd be bigger," he said, motioning with his other hand to the dagger-length serpent I was holding.

"That's why we need two." I dropped the first into the bag. After I quickly retrieved the second, he jerked on the drawstring, pulling it tight. Then we headed back to the castle.


	31. Chapter 31

_To those of you who've added this story (and me :) ) to favorites and alerts, many thanks. And, of course, to brownc0at for being my beta. To my reviewers, you guys are aweseome. Thanks for taking the time to jot down a few notes, letting me know what you think. A story isn't complete till somebody reads it, and it always fascinates me to see what people pick up on in a tale._

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**Darrian Tabris**

Back in the herbarium, I watched as Zevran deftly extracted the snake venom. He'd covered the end of a long glass vial with heavy linen, which the snake then bit through, pressing its fangs against the glass. Milky venom flowed down the side. The vial was just over half full by the time he finished. The snakes were dumped into a small wire cage on the work table.

"Will that be enough?" Wynne asked.

Zevran studied the vial. "It should be. When it's ready, the antidote is applied as a poultice, to be absorbed through the skin."

His face showed the same focused intensity as when he practiced with his weapons.

"Well, let's get to work, shall we?" Wynne said.

Alistair insisted on staying, but I slipped out of the workroom. We had only grabbed a mouthful or two of bread before we left that morning. I wasn't hungry, but Alistair and Zevran probably were.

There was a platter of bacon in the main hall on the side table where a breakfast of sorts was laid out. I smiled, and piled two plates with bacon, fresh biscuits smeared with strawberry jam, and fried potatoes onto a tray, together with three steaming mugs of tea.

Alistair's nose twitched as soon as I returned.

"Oh, Maker, that smells good," he said. I handed him the tray, then retrieved one of the mugs and brought it over to Wynne. Zevran was immersed in measuring some herbs into a glass container.

"May I speak with you, Warden?" Wynne said, very softly, then glanced at Zevran. "It will be a while before he needs my skills."

I nodded and followed her to the double doors on the opposite side of the room. They opened into a large and well-tended herb garden. She closed the doors, then settled on a red stone bench by several clusters of fragrant sage. Several varieties were in bloom, and bees already droned among the flowers.

Wynne patted the space beside her and smiled. "Come, sit."

I sank onto the bench beside her. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

She sipped her tea first, both hands holding the cup.

"I wanted to thank you for Connor's life. It won't be easy for him in the tower, but I've spoken to Irving, and I have friends who'll keep a close and protective eye on him there."

I gripped the edges of the bench, gazing at the cropped grass between my boots. "Does he have to go?"

"You miss your family very much, don't you?"

"Every day." I looked up. "I'm never going to have normal life, am I?"

"No, I'm afraid not. You are one of the last two Wardens in Ferelden. Even after the Archdemon is killed, you will be needed to help protect this land. The darkspawn never completely leave."

I knew she tried to be kind in the way she said it. But something in her tones scraped against my nerves. I saw it stretching out before me, a life of duty and sacrifice, even if I survived the Blight. It seemed a very empty existence, filled only with death and steel, and traveling from one battle to another. My chest constricted and my breath caught in my throat. I stood abruptly and turned back towards the doors. I wanted to run and never stop.

"I'm…sorry, Wynne. I'm very tired. I didn't sleep well last night." I didn't look at her.

"Of course, and please, make sure you eat something. You had almost nothing last night, and I'm sure you had next to nothing when you left this morning."

I glanced back, her dark blue eyes troubled and concerned. For a moment, I was tempted to tell her what was in my heart, but she would only speak further of duty and responsibility. So I just nodded and headed back to my room.

As I stripped off my shirt and unbraided my hair, I wondered where Tam had gotten off to. Probably in the kitchen, begging for scraps from the cook.

I wandered over to the narrow window. The rooms on that side of the castle looked out over the lake. Far below me, fishing boats and other craft plied the waters. The funeral rites were over, and people were starting to pick up their lives again.

In the south, a storm gathered, darkspawn spilling out into the countryside and creeping north. For the moment, though, Redcliffe was peaceful, though how long it would last only the Creators knew. And when that battle was finally over, and the Arch-demon defeated, my life would still be tied to steel and blood. Not a path I would willingly have chosen.

I'd asked Zevran once what he would have chosen if the Crows hadn't bought him. He'd said he wasn't entirely certain. I sighed. Neither was I. Wynne talked about finding pleasure and satisfaction in duty and sacrifice. Maybe I was selfish, but I couldn't see that. My mother had taught me we were made for joy, as well as duty. I think even my father believed that, in his own way.

I opened the window, then drew the curtain across to block out the sun pouring into the room before stretching out on the bed. I gazed at the empty space beside me, thinking of Zevran. I thought about looking for him, inviting him back here when he was done so I wouldn't have to sleep alone. Yes, and spend half my time fending off propositions I really didn't want to refuse. Rubbing my eyes, I laughed at my indecision, then rolled over and closed my eyes.


	32. Chapter 32

_Many thanks to those who've reviewed and added this story (and me :)) to alerts and favorites. You guys are awesome. And, of course, thanks to brownc0at for being my beta.

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After the final distillation I backed away, and Wynne slipped into my place. Alistair still sat on the stool at the end of the long worktable with the second breakfast plate next to his elbow. The one in front of him was empty. He shrugged when I arched a brow at him after pointing at the lone piece of bacon on my plate. I'd seen Darrian bring the plates in.

He slid off the stool, and then lounged against the wall behind me. I felt his eyes on my back. I settled on the stool he'd just occupied and started eating. The tea was cool, but I preferred it that way.

Wynne was a marvel, and not just because she was still a beautiful woman. Her soft chanting was smooth as silk, rhythmic as a heartbeat, as she channeled a thin stream of healing energy into the pale yellow liquid in the flask. A second stream joined it, spiraling around the first and stirring the contents.

Alistair eased up next to me, his eyes intent on the brightening glow in the antidote. When it shifted iridescent, Wynne immediately stopped the flow, and the liquid settled to a pale milky yellow.

"You're sure that's going to work? It looks almost like the venom," Alistair said.

"It will work, Warden. If the poison Jowan used was derived from a Golden Adder snake."

"How do I apply this, again, Zevran?" Wynne asked.

"A chest poultice over the heart." I pointed to a small bowl of dried moss on the table next to the snake cage. "Just soak a piece of moss about the size of a sovereign in the antidote, wrap it in linen and bind it over his heart. Moisten it every hour or so."

"How long before we know if it works?" Alistair asked.

"Normally, the antidote takes about four or five hours before the effects are seen." I rolled a shoulder, trying to work a knot out of a muscle. "But with the demon interference….I'm not sure how long it will take. If it acts normally, and it is the right antidote, he'll drift in and out of consciousness for a day, before coming completely out of it." I slid off the stool. "And he'll be weak for a few days, but he should fully recover."

"Thank you, Zevran," Wynne said.

"I…oh, you're welcome, fair one." And she didn't even chide me for saying that.

I left them with both their heads bent over the workbench as Wynne prepared the poultice.

Well, this had certainly been a change in my routine, preparing antidotes instead of poisons. Though as long as we were here, and I still had access to Arl Eamon's excellent herbarium, I might as well prepare some quick acting poisons for battle use.

I stopped by the main hall for more tea and found Morrigan there. She studied me over the rim of her cup.

"Very clever of you, Zevran," she said, from her position at the end of the long dining table.

"And what is that, oh magical temptress?" I poured myself another cup of tea, then reached for the honey.

She glanced in the direction of the herbarium. "Getting in the good graces of the one who decides whether you live or die. Not to mention that he can protect you from your former comrades." She leaned back in her chair, crossing those long and lovely legs of hers.

I let a dollop of honey fall into the cup while those tawny eyes watched every move I made. Clever woman. And very observant. But there's another saying in Antiva. 'Seeing is not always believing'.

I stirred in the honey and picked up my cup. "And I am supposed to believe that you are here out of the goodness of your heart?" I waved the cup at her. "Or perhaps a sense of patriotism?"

She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "Hardly that."

"We both have our reasons for doing what we do."

She smiled, the index finger of one hand stroking the side of her cup. "Well, aren't you full of secrets."

"As much as I'm enjoying our conversation, it was a long night…a long sleepless night, and I was up before the birds this morning. With your leave, fair temptress," I said and bowed.

Her smile followed me out into the hallway. An intriguing woman, but I would advise anyone who wanted to share her bed to sleep with a dagger close to hand. At the moment, sharing a bed with sleep seemed the sweeter pastime.

When I returned to the room, I found Darrian stretched out on the bed farthest from the window. He had pulled off his boots and shirt and was sleeping on top of the blanket, one arm lying across his stomach, the other curled up by his head, his face turned away from me.

I put my cup on a chest and pulled off my boots, laid them on the floor, then padded over to him and crouched down beside his bed. His hair was loose, spilling in a russet wave across his pillow. I studied the marks on his face; they resembled feathers stretching across his cheekbones and up the sides of his forehead. I wondered why he had them. They suited his features quite well. But he didn't seem a man inclined to vanity.

I sighed softly as I gazed at him. He wanted me. I wanted him. Was this so difficult a thing to accept? Pleasure, freely given and offered, doesn't come along very often, so why not take it when it does? Yes, one can have a prostitute or two any time, if one has the sovereigns. But it's not the same. While it can be quite enjoyable and certainly offers physical release, it lacks the spontaneity, the unexpected sweetness of someone who offers pleasure simply because they fancy you.

A breeze from the open window blew a strand of hair across his cheek. I reached out, then pulled my hand back, not wanting to wake him. He'd slept so little these past nights.

Tam wandered in and regarded me, cocked his head then looked from Darrian to me. He padded over and settled beside me, his muzzle resting on the bed, and gazed at his master. A small sound, not quite a whine, sounded deep in the mabari's chest. He glanced at me then back at Darrian.

I'd seen the dog in battle, defending his master's back. I'd assumed he'd just been very well trained, thinking Fereldans had exaggerated their intelligence. But, now, I wondered.

"What do you wish of me, my four-legged friend?" I whispered.

Tam lifted his head then closed his jaws around my wrist, and pulled my hand towards his master.

"It must be his choice, my friend." The mabari released me, and I glanced down at my wrist. Except for some dog spittle, there wasn't a mark on my skin. I'd seen him almost take Alistair's hand off when the human had tried to come between him and his dinner. Tam made a sound almost like a sigh, then settled on the floor.

I glanced back at Darrian, at the bruised shadows under his eyes. Between us lay the fire that burned so sweet, banked at the moment, but ready to flare at a glance or the lightest touch. Untended, it might burn itself out, or consume us both.


	33. Chapter 33

_Thanks, once again, to brownc0at for keeping me in line with commas and other grammar issues. And to you who've added this story to alerts/favorites._

_Our merry band is still in Redcliffe, taking a breather from fighting undead and darkspawn. Zevran fulfills his promise to teach his Warden Crow fighting techniques, and ends up with more than he bargained for._

_Comments/reviews are always welcome.  
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**Darrian Tabris**

In only a few days, Arl Eamon was well on his way to regaining his health. It would take months to gather an army, and neither Alistair nor I sensed the Archdemon nor any Darkspawn. Even our dreams had been quiet for the last week. So there seemed no harm in extending our stay a few more days. We needed the rest. Even Sten agreed with that, to my surprise.

Alistair was constantly in attendance on the arl, much to Lady Isolde's annoyance. Once the immediate threat to Connor and the arl was gone, her old feelings re-surfaced. She was courteous to Alistair in an icy way that communicated her feelings more clearly than sharp words. Whenever she entered a room where Alistair was present, he would find some excuse to leave. Wynne would look troubled, while Morrigan would roll her eyes and saunter out.

More than once I was tempted to say something, but as much as I didn't like admitting it, Morrigan was right. How was Alistair going to learn to defend himself if I always intervened?

In keeping with his promise, Zevran began teaching me the techniques he had used to such devastating effect against the walking dead. Since the weather was fair and the castle no longer infested, we practiced in an open, grassy corner of Arl Eamon's large herb garden, well away from where the guards trained. Apparently, the Crows had rules against teaching their fighting techniques to outsiders, and he didn't want the guards seeing them.

"But aren't you breaking the rules by teaching me?"

"My pledge is to you, not the arl's guards. And there is a difference between tweaking the lion's nose, and punching it."

The styles he'd been trained in, like mine, depended on agility and speed. I'd thought I was good, but by the time the first session ended, I had a dozen small cuts scattered across my arms and chest. Since he'd pulled his blades, they were barely more than scratches, but they still stung when my sweat trickled across them.

With his sword, he pointed to the last one he'd given me, just above my collar bone. "The cuts remind you to keep your guard up."

I glanced down at the blood beading up on my skin, then at the rest of the cuts and grimaced as I sheathed my blades. I thought I had kept my guard up.

He chuckled as he laid his weapons on a table next to a small pack he'd tossed there before our session started. "Trust me, my Warden, you've done quite well."

He took a small healing potion from the pack and tossed it to me. I swallowed the contents, leaned against the table, and watched a small cut on my left forearm close up, leaving my skin smooth and unmarked. A bee droned past my ear, probably on its way to the cluster of rose bushes in the center of the garden. Deep red roses mixed with golden yellow, and a white variety as pale as moonlight.

His soft lips brushed my cheek, and I closed my eyes.

"Hmmm, you like flowers?" Zevran whispered in my ear.

He was so close, though only his lips touched me, and desire stirred. Ah, Creators, I wanted him. All I had to do was reach out. It would be so easy. And it had been so long. He moved closer, his fingertips brushing across my stomach just above my belt. I shivered as his tongue traced a path down the curve of my neck, then back up to my ear. But this time felt different from when I'd kissed him in the indoor training room. His moves felt…too deliberate. His desire was real, but he was wielding it like he did his blades, as a weapon to disarm me.

"You're like a rose yourself, lush…beautiful, with thorns sharp enough to make the journey dangerous, and therefore, much more interesting," he said, his voice rippling with seductive undertones.

His hand drifted below my belt, and I gripped his wrist, holding it still. He sighed, a bit dramatically, and leaned his forehead against the side of my head. His warm breath ghosted against my ear tip.

"Why do you do hesitate, my Warden? One as handsome as you should-"

My hand tightened on his wrist, and my eyes opened. "Are you doing this because you want me? Or because you think that if you bed me, I'll be less likely to toss you back to the Crows?"

He stiffened. I wasn't gripping him so hard he couldn't break it, if he really wanted to. He backed up a step, but didn't pull away when I closed the distance between us.

"What happened in the training room…I remember what I said…what you said." I think a stone showed more animation than his face did at that moment. "Don't…'seduce' me, Zevran. You don't need to." I released his wrist and slid my hands up into his soft hair, so that my thumbs rested along the serpentine lines that curved down his cheeks. "Come to me because you want to, not because you think you need to."

He stared at me, his breath coming faster, his body poised on the balls of his feet. His eyes held mine, and time stretched between us, filling up the spaces between the beats of my heart. Then his hands slipped forward, brushing the curve of my hips and coming to rest against my lower back. His face relaxed into a smile as he tugged me forward and then pushed against me, rolling his hips. With only a few layers of cloth between us, my breath caught in my throat when I felt his desire pressed against mine.

"Well, I did tell you I enjoyed your directness. But such bluntness…" He made a tsking sound. "Surely, even in this cold land, there is a place for pleasing words and subtle touches that warm the blood." He laughed. "Especially in this place, yes?"

I glanced down at where our bodies were pressed together. "You consider this subtle?"

He laughed again. "Well, perhaps not so subtle." Something in his face shifted. He still smiled, but there was a softness to the edges of it, as though a layer had been discarded. He traced a line around the curve of my jaw and then across my lips, letting his fingers rest there. In his eyes, I saw longing and need, an appeal that came not from artifice, but from someplace inside him.

"The road is long, my Warden, and death might find us tomorrow. So, why not accept the pleasure this day offers?"

I slipped closer, laying my head on his shoulder, my face turned away from his, my arms sliding up his smooth back. I turned my face, because if I kissed him, it wasn't going to end there. And I still wasn't sure about walking down that road.

"Don't you ever just want to hold someone, Zevran? Feel their warmth, and their heart beating, because it reminds you that you're alive? And that you're not the only living thing in the world?"

He stroked my hair. "I was trained as an assassin, my Warden. Such…tenderness…what use is it?"

He said it like he was reciting a lesson he didn't quite believe. A dutiful student saying what the teacher wanted to hear.

"But you know what it is. You've felt it."

He flinched in my arms, as if he was pulling back, though he never moved a step.

"I told you, I-"

I twisted in the circle of his arms and laid my fingers over his lips. "You had a mother. She cared enough to see you stayed alive, even in a whorehouse."

His face closed down again. "I never knew her."

He was all coiled, tight muscles beneath my hands. "Someone cared that you lived." I slipped my hand up to rest my palm against his cheek. "My mother was skilled in fighting, but she was also trained as a mid-wife. There is nothing more helpless, more in need of tenderness, than a new-born babe."

He stared at me, his eyes shuttered. Then he twisted away, out of my hands, muttering something in Antivan. He snatched up his pack and his weapons. If he were anyone else, I would have said he fled the garden.

I sagged back against the table. How my father had tried to teach me to govern my tongue. After a very long while, he'd finally given up. But, at least, I had learned how words could affect someone, even if I did have trouble holding them back at times.

I'd meant what I'd told Zevran. I didn't want him sharing my bed because he thought it gave him a better chance of surviving. There was more to life than just surviving. There was more to making love than just 'releasing tension'. I knew that last didn't matter to him, but it mattered to me. Three weeks really wasn't long enough to fall in love, not the kind that can last a lifetime. But spend every minute of that time in someone's company, fight beside them, watch their back while they watch yours, and you might see the possibility of it.

Creators help me, I saw that with him.


	34. Chapter 34

_Many thanks to those who've added this story to favorites/alerts, and me.:) You guys are awesome. As always, reviews/comments are welcome. Enjoy!_

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**Zevran Arainai**

One thing about those walking dead, it had thinned out the guard population, so I encountered no one on the way back to the room the arl had given us. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and threw the bolt before leaning back against the heavy oak. My pack slid out of my hand, landing with a dull thud on the thick carpet.

My heart still raced, partly from desire and partly from… something I couldn't quite put a name to. Or perhaps, I didn't want to.

Maker, how did he do it? How did one so young, so unwise in the ways of the world, see so clearly? Where had he learned to throw words like a well-aimed dagger? How did he dig up feelings I'd buried so deep in the bottom of my soul that even I couldn't find them?

Desire still burned my blood. It was all I knew. All I had been taught to expect…or want. Tenderness? Any leaning towards that was carefully and brutally beaten out during training. Or it was supposed to be. I had felt it for Rinna. I had held her sometimes, just so I could feel her heart beating against mine. And in the end, what had that left me with? The bitter taste of ashes and old blood.

As for when I was a baby…well, I suppose Amia had been tender towards me. I'd always been her favorite. She'd taught me how to play Wicked Grace, and even better, how to cheat to best advantage and not get caught. She was the only one of the whores who would ever speak to me of my mother. My mother...

My hands curled around the hilts of my blades. It had been so long since I'd even thought of her. Before the Crows bought me, I had sometimes stared at my reflection in Amia's gilded mirror, trying to find my mother in my face. Did I look like her? Or the father who was, most likely, one of her customers? And why did it still matter?

"_Mierde,"_ I muttered. I was getting soft, wallowing in such sentiment.

The door rattled behind me, followed by a fist banging against it. "Hello? Open up." Alistair's voice, muffled through the thick oak. I threw back the bolt and opened the door.

He scowled at me. "Why was it locked?"

"What, I can't have some privacy?"

He looked at me suspiciously. "What would you need privacy for?" Then he shook his head. "Wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."

I shrugged and moved out of the way. His gaze lingered on the Crow markings on my chest and stomach before settling on my weapons.

"You know where Darrian is? Arl Eamon wants to speak with him."

I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms. "We were sparring in the herb garden. When I left, he was still there."

"Sparring?"

I chuckled. "Of course, my dear ex-templar. He's quite a good partner for such…manly endeavors."

He blushed. Maker, it was so easy it almost wasn't fun. He scowled at me and stalked out of the room. My smiled faded after he left, slipping off my face like a well-worn mask as I unbuckled my weapons belt, then laid my blades on the bed closest to the narrow window.

I gathered up a shirt and pair of trousers from the neat stack of clean laundry a servant had left on the table. I wanted a bath before lunch. I wanted…Maker…I wanted to share it with him, my Warden. A shared bath, even if it didn't end in passionate lovemaking, would have been a pleasant way to finish off a sparring session.

I stopped, my hand on the door, the clothes draped over my left arm, turning that unbidden thought over in my mind.

I was still turning it over as I soaked.

Somewhere in the castle, a pair of lace curtains had apparently survived the recent incursion of walking dead, and now drifted inward as a breeze stirred them. There'd even been a handful of rose petals to toss into the bath water. Deep red mixed with yellow. Crow colors, I thought suddenly, though the Crows claimed none, not even black. But the image persisted, the color of freshly spilled blood mingled with that of fine gold. Appropriate.

I stirred the petals with my fingers and watched as they drifted past my knees. He _was_ like a rose, my Warden. Full of soft beauty, but also sharp, and pricking you when you least expected it. I'd seen him do it with others, so why had I thought I'd be immune to that?

I leaned back and closed my eyes, the scent of crushed rose petals drifting through the air around me.

_Come to me because you want to_. But I did. How could he see all those other things and not that? Or maybe it was me who wasn't seeing. What did I see when I looked at him? A gifted fighter. One with an instinct for leadership. A man I wanted. A mark I'd been sent to kill. But he wasn't a mark anymore, though I'd approached him like one, weaving soft words with seductive smiles and touches designed to break through resistances. And he'd seen right through that, like he'd seen through Berwick.

I laughed. It seemed that old habits _were_ that hard to shake. I was going to have to learn a whole new set in dealing with him. I slipped farther down into the water, till it lapped over my chin. And what is life without challenges, hmmm?


	35. Chapter 35

_For all those who've followed along on this journey, lurkers in the shadows as well as those who've left reviews and added this tale to favorites/alerts, my heartfelt thanks. And especially to brownc0at, my beta who keeps me on the straight and narrow grammar path._

_Our little band is still in Redcliffe. A brief interlude to tie up a loose end or two before meeting with Eamon to discuss what action to take concerning the Blight.  
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_Enjoy!_

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**Darrian Tabris**

We were leaving the day after tomorrow. Arl Eamon had been able to spare enough supplies to see us to the next town about three days ride north of Redcliffe, where we could stock up. I hadn't decided yet whether we would head to Orzammar or the Brecilian Forest for the next round of treaty negotiations. Well, I didn't have to decide till after we replenished our supplies.

While Alistair played a board game with the arl in his room, I found myself wandering past the chapel and heard the soft sounds of a lute coming through the half-open door. I peeked inside and saw Leliana perched on a bench near a rack of lighted candles.

She looked up from her playing, never breaking the rhythm of her fingers. I smiled, then settled onto the bench opposite her and listened.

"That's very pretty. What is it?"

"An Orlesian lullaby. I play it for Connor every night, while his mother sings him to sleep." The last notes faded into the candlelight. "He leaves for the tower tomorrow."

"How is Lady Isolde taking it?"

She sighed. "I've tried telling her that this is where the Maker is leading Connor. That he is a mage for a reason. But…" She let her hand fall. "She cries every night after she leaves him." She strummed her lute softly. "So, then I play for her."

"And Connor?"

"He doesn't want to go. But he still has nightmares. Wynne has told him they will go away if he studies hard and practices."

I hoped she was right.

Leli picked out a melody, something haunting and sweet.

"Do you know anything from Antiva?" I asked.

"A courting song, perhaps?" she asked with a smile.

My cheeks got hot. "I…no…I…just thought maybe Zevran would like it. He misses his home, I think."

Her fingers brushed the back of my hand. "I've seen how you look at him…the way he looks at you."

"Does everyone know?" I said, shaking my head.

She laughed softly. "Maybe not Alistair. But he has so many other things to think about, especially now that Cailan is dead."

Yes, he did. Though I think Alistair would prefer if the whole idea of him being king just went away. Sooner or later, though, he was going to have to deal with it.

"Love often takes root and flourishes in difficult places, at least, according to all the songs and tales," Leliana said.

"In my experience, hard times kill love, more often than not."

"Oh…I forgot…you grew up in the Alienage, no?"

I nodded, thinking of the narrow, ill-kept streets and clogged sewers, people scraping by on the few coppers a day a stable cleaner or dock worker made.

"I'd heard of the squalor and the poverty. But there must have been moments of joy and beauty, as well?"

"At times," I said. "There is a tree, the _vhenadahl, _in the Alienage, that has been there for centuries. On summer evenings, our _hahren _would gather the children beneath its branchesand tell stories."

"Oh, you must tell me those sometime. I don't know many stories of the elves."

I know it was only a bard's curiosity and thirst that made her ask, but our stories, the few that are left, are one of the few things we've kept from the humans, and we guard them jealously.

I rose and stretched. "Perhaps, when this is all over."

She looked disappointed but only nodded. I wished her well, then left and headed for the herbarium. My stock of battle poisons was low.

Apparently, so was Zevran's, since I found him there grinding herbs. My heart skipped when I saw him, bent over his work, his golden hair gleaming in the evening sun that streamed through the glass doors. He looked up and smiled.

"You still owe me that recipe for the walking dead."

I motioned towards the mortar and pestle in front of him. "What are you making?"

"Serpent's Kiss; it's a paralytic. I was thinking of trying it on darkspawn when we meet them."

"There are some things you need to know about fighting darkspawn," I said as I stepped forward. Then the room dimmed, and a shudder passed through me. I felt the tug of darkness, like a waking dream calling, pulling at me. It was only a few seconds, but Zevran was close, his hand gripping my shoulder.

"My Warden?" He sounded concerned.

I blinked him back into focus. His hand slipped to my neck, warm and light.

"You seemed…so far away," he said.

"They were calling."

"Who?"

I shook my head to clear it. " The darkspawn. We…Alistair and I …can sense them, hear them. Sometimes, they come in dreams…Nightmares, really."

"That must make for a restless night. I am…acquainted with those."

The answer didn't really surprise me, but the dark shadow in his eyes did. He claimed he liked being an assassin, so I wondered what else would haunt him. I laid my hand over his.

"What kind of dreams?"

"I…" His hand fell away, and he turned back to the worktable. "A story for another time, I think."

His face smoothed over as he focused on his work.

"Zevran?"

He glanced up from his grinding. "Yes, my Warden?"

I wanted to ask him about his dreams, but he wasn't yet ready to tell me. He might never be. "When you're done with that, I'll show you that poison for the walking dead. My mother called it 'Tears of the Night.'"

He smiled. "From what you've told me, your mother sounds like a clever woman."

"She was."

"Hmm, clever and beautiful, a formidable combination." He picked up a flask and poured the brownish powder into it.

I slid onto the stool next to him. "Why do you assume she was beautiful?"

"Her son is handsome." I felt my ear tips blushing. He chuckled. "Why do you do that? Blush at the truth? Surely you had a line of pretty girls trailing after you when your blood began to stir? Perhaps some pretty boys, as well, yes?"

"Never," I said, but I was smiling. It felt good to smile.

"Ah, you jest with me, my Warden." He poured alcohol into the flask with the powder to begin the extraction process. "Now, let me show you how to make 'Serpent's Kiss'."


	36. Chapter 36

_Here it is, October already. To all of you who've been following this story for the last few months, and added it to favorites/alerts, sent reviews, many thanks. As our favorite assassin has been known to say, 'It's nice to know ones efforts are appreciated.'_

_As always, reviews/comments are welcome. Enjoy!_

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**Zevran Arainai**

Since the arl was now fully recovered, there was no reason to linger. There was an army to build and Darkspawn to kill. Before we left, though, Arl Eamon held a meeting with all of us in his fine hall. The mage who had tried to poison him was brought in, I assumed for sentencing or some kind of judgment.

To my surprise, the arl turned to Darrian and asked for his opinion on how the man should be judged. Never would I have thought such a thing could happen, that a _shem_ would ask an elf for an opinion on any matter, let alone one as serious as this. It seemed they bred a different kind of human in Ferelden.

Darrian was silent for a long moment. "Release him. Let him take his chances."

Morrigan looked on approvingly, though Wynne frowned.

"I can't do that," the arl said. "I will send him back to the Circle tower and let the mages deal with him."

Morrigan hissed and stalked from the room.

Jowan paled, but he bowed and murmured thanks before the guards led him away.

"What will the mages do with him?" I asked Darrian.

He shook his head.

"He's a maleficar," Alistair said. "Normally, the templars….kill them. The mages will probably make him tranquil."

"_Mierde,_" I muttered. "Better to kill him, I think." Life without feeling, without passion, even when those moments had to be stolen, was not life at all.

The arl motioned to the table, and we settled around it after he sat down, his brother Bann Teagan on his right.

"We need to discuss what to do about Loghain, brother. There's no telling what he'll do once he finds out you've recovered," Teagan said.

I could think of a number of things, all of which involved putting Loghain more firmly on the throne.

"I've known him a long time," Eamon said. "He never seemed a man who desired power."

Teagan leaned forward. "I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne." He shook his head. "He's mad, I think."

I'd been there, too. And I didn't think Loghain mad at all. Driven, perhaps, but not mad.

Eamon looked troubled. "He must be, to risk civil war with the Darkspawn rising, to poison me and threaten my lands. Even if he is, we can't afford to fight this war to the end, not when a Blight might be upon us."

"Can you unite the nobility against him?" Darrian asked.

"Some, probably most of them. But Loghain has some very powerful allies. And we cannot afford to be divided at this time."

One of those allies was Arl Howe. A 'marriage of convenience,' if ever there was one.

Darrian leaned forward. "What if we let others know the truth of what happened at Ostagar? How he betrayed Cailan."

Eamon's eyes narrowed. "It would give even his allies pause. But, by itself, it wouldn't be enough. Forgive me, Warden, but it's only your word against his, and from what my brother's told me, your word has little value among too many." He glanced at Alistair. "We need to combine it with a challenge he cannot ignore, someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Anora."

"Alistair," Darrian said. A subtle undertone of disapproval in my Warden's voice caught my attention.

"Yes, as Cailan's half-brother, Alistair's claim by blood is far stronger than that of an uncle or two," Eamon said.

Alistair jumped to his feet. "Hey, what about what I want?"

"Without you, Loghain wins. For the sake of Ferelden alone, I would have to support him. Is that what you want?"

I hid a smile. Cunning old man, manipulating our ex-templar's feelings against Loghain like that, to secure his own position and power. With Loghain on the throne, the arl's head would never be safe.

"I…but…I… no, my lord," Alistair said and sank back into his chair. So easily, he yielded. Odd, since he seemed so fierce in battle.

"Then I see only one way to proceed: to call a Landsmeet. Let the nobility gather in Denerim, and we can settle once and for all who will rule Ferelden. Once that is decided, we can fight our true foe." He turned to Darrian. "I owe you a great deal, my life and that of my family. What say you, friend? Do I have your blessing?"

My Warden never hesitated. "Yes, my lord."

The arl stood and we all rose. "It will take time to recall my forces and organize our allies. And I would prefer to strengthen our position in the meantime." He looked at Darrian. "Pursue the rest of your treaties; we'll need all the allies we can gather. When you've finished, send word, and I will call the Landsmeet."

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My Warden disappeared rather abruptly after the hasty dinner that followed the arl's meeting. He'd said little during the meal, speaking just enough for courtesy. I followed a hunch and found him in the grassy corner of the herb garden, stripped to the waist and moving through his sword exercises.

I hung back, using a screen of Bridal Veil bushes to cloak my presence while I took advantage of this uncommon opportunity to openly admire him. Maker, he was an exquisite man. Strong, graceful, and so sure of his body as he moved through the forms. I suspected he would move through the forms of love with equal grace and dexterity. The thought sent my heart racing, made me hard. I suppressed a sigh so I wouldn't betray my presence. It wasn't just his beauty that drew me. I felt…comfortable with him. Training warned against such feelings. But the Crows were far away. And I discovered, in that moment, that I was tired of always being on guard with someone, of always watching my back, even in a shared bed.

From the little he'd told me, he was no stranger to passion, so not likely to confuse strong feelings of desire with…affection. And based on his kisses, he knew something of the arts of love. I wondered how much. Of course, there was only one way to answer that question. Despite his seeming hesitation, I didn't think it would be much longer before I had an opportunity to discover the extent of his skills. But, I decided - while getting control of my lust before I emerged from the bushes - that it would be best to let him set the course and pace of the journey to a shared bed. The games I'd learned in Antiva didn't work here, at least not with him.

I eased back to the double doors of the herbarium before returning by a more direct and open route to the corner where he practiced. He completed a form then stopped, panting lightly from the exercise, and smiled at me.

"Feeling a bit tense, my Warden?"

He sighed and swung his sword through a broad arc. "Just a little." He grimaced. "I hate politics."

I chuckled and motioned to the table where he'd dropped his shirt.

"Shall I help you…relieve some tension?"

He nodded, and I stripped to the waist before starting to stretch out.

"You know, my Warden. You're going to have to get used to it. You'll be haggling with princes and kings while building your army."

"I'd rather haggle with the merchants. At least with them, you know that they're after your coin. These _shem _nobles…" He sighed. "I can't be sure what they really want."

"Whatever increases their own power and secures their own position. Even the 'good' ones are motivated by that, if for different reasons."

His face went very quiet. "I know Alistair believes Eamon is a good man. And I suppose he's right when he says that Alistair's claim to the throne will create a challenge Loghain can't ignore."

"But?"

He gazed at his dagger for a long moment before looking up and answering. "He's using Alistair. He didn't refuse when Isolde demanded that Alistair be sent away." His eyes darkened like storm-clouds. "I found out from one of the servants that she even made Alistair sleep in the stables. And Eamon didn't object to that, either."

I straightened up from a long stretch. "He was an older man with a very young and very pretty wife." I pointed to my crotch. "This head usually takes precedence over this one," I tapped the side of my forehead, "-in such cases."

He stared at me, then laughed, the way one does when something so obvious, that you wondered how you'd missed it has just been pointed out.

"You're probably right, Zevran. It's just…" He swung his sword again, looking frustrated. In that moment, I realized how hard this was for him, finding his way through a part of the world he knew nothing about. This seemed a day for discovering things. "He's my friend. I don't…like the thought of him being used like that. And he doesn't want to _be_ king."

I folded my arms. "And you are going to fight this battle for him? Perhaps I overstep my bounds, but that is not a very wise tactic, my Warden. If he becomes king, he's going to have to learn to defend his own ground…without help from you, or anyone else, for that matter." I paused for a heartbeat or two. "And you have quite enough to worry about without also…coddling a man-child who needs to learn to stand on his own."

He stepped towards me, his hands tightening on his weapons, though they stayed lowered. I'd faced down harder looks from my Crow masters, but not by much.

"He's my friend."

I waved my hand. "You say that like it's some kind of talisman. In the end, we are all alone against whatever comes for us."

"Then maybe you should leave. Face the Crows on your own."

My hands were on my weapons before I even realized I was moving. Maker, his instincts were good. But he was so naïve about the way things really worked among those who held power, even among 'good men.'

I willed my hands to relax, hang loose off the hilts, let my body shift back on my heels, trusting that he could read such subtle signs.

"We are not discussing my life, my Warden. But in these things of shifting politics, I do know more than you. Why not take advantage of that?"

His stance relaxed. "Because I don't accept that people are…weapons… or pieces to be moved through some game for your own advantage." He sheathed his blades and came very close. His hand brushed my cheek, then rested there. "Or that, in the end, we stand alone. Standing alone didn't get me this far or keep me alive."

Something caught in my throat as I covered his hand with mine. He moved closer still, and my heart sped up from his nearness. Then his hands were sliding up into my hair as he pressed his soft lips against mine in a long, sweet kiss that hinted at a much greater passion hovering just beneath the surface.

He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. "I can't...play those kinds of games, even if I knew how."

Maker, preserve me from those with ideals. Or, barring that, help me find a way to help him survive.

I sighed. "You realize that you won't have a choice, yes?"

He pulled back and regarded me, his hands still in my hair and my hands still clasped behind his neck. "You sound very sure of that."

"Trust me, my Warden, if there's one thing being trained as an assassin has given me, it's an understanding of how the _shem_ nobles think. Of course, I'm most familiar with Antivan politics, but from what I've seen so far, the game is not played so very differently here in Ferelden." I smiled. "I can, at least, offer you my opinion on what they may be after and how to maneuver your way through it. As for our dear ex-templar, I'd suggest finding a way to help him stand on his own. He's quite capable of it, I suspect, even if he's been…denied the opportunities."

"Creators, that's not going to be easy," he murmured.

"Nothing worthwhile is," I said, and his mouth curved into a smile before he kissed me again. Maker, I could get used to his kisses. Then he stepped back and drew his weapons, motioning to the center of the grassy square. I pulled my own blades, and we fell into the dance.


	37. Chapter 37

_Many thanks to all those who've read, reviewed and added this to favorites/alerts. And especially to those of you who've read multiple chapters in one sitting. :) Last, but not least, to brownc0at for being my beta. _

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**Darrian Tabris**

We left just after sunrise. Arl Eamon had given us enough supplies that we would be able to reach the town of Brandel's Landing about three days northeast of Redcliffe. It served as a shipping port for goods from the Hinterlands and the Southron Hills according to Bann Teagan. Though, with the darkspawn rising in the south, I wondered just how much longer it would survive.

The day warmed as the sun rose, and a light breeze carried the scent of late spring flowers. I've always loved this time of year, warm silky days after the icy cold of winter. Alistair and I rode in front, taking point, while Wynne and Morrigan followed us in the wagon. Tam had decided to ride with the witch, and while she made some comments about 'mangy dogs' and 'flea-bitten hounds,' she didn't discourage him.

Sten and Leli rode flank, and Zevran trailed in the rear. He'd said something about 'watching my back' in a way that made Alistair blush, Leli smile, and Morrigan roll her eyes. Neither Sten nor Wynne had been within earshot, for which I was thankful. While Sten might frown, he wouldn't say anything. But I really didn't want to endure a lecture from Wynne about my 'duties and responsibilities.' I knew what they were.

I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on enjoying the ride. After about an hour, I pulled my horse up beside Alistair. We hadn't talked much after settling the matter of Connor's possession and the arl's recovery. Perhaps it was because my own thoughts kept straying to my family that I wanted to ask him about his.

"Can I ask you something?"

He glanced at me and then nodded. I pitched my voice low, so only he would hear me. "Did… Cailan know you were his brother?"

He sighed. "Yes, but we never spoke. I only saw him once, when I was maybe six or seven, and he was eleven. I said hello, then he ran off, looking for the knights."

"All those years, and he never…"

Alistair shook his head.

"I'm…sorry," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

"And now he's dead," Alistair said quietly, but with an edge in his voice. He shook his head, then straightened and punched me lightly on the arm. "What about you? Any half-siblings hiding in the corners of your life?"

His horse snorted.

"No, just a few cousins. Shianni and…Soris." I thought of them every day, wondering if they were well, hoping they were. But Zevran was right -there'd be consequences from the carnage Soris and I had dealt when we'd rescued Shianni and the others.

"Well, since we're talking family, I should probably tell you about my sister."

I blinked, startled out of my thoughts. "You have a sister?"

He sighed again. "Half-sister really. And that's all the relatives, I promise." His face went wistful. "I know she lives in Denerim, near the Alienage, and I always wanted to look her up. This probably isn't the best time to do that."

"No, it's the perfect time to head to Denerim after we re-supply. We need to find out what Loghain is doing, anyway, among other things."

I glanced down at my scuffed and stained armor. Between darkspawn blood, undead, and the Abominations in the tower, it needed repair. It probably should be replaced. Duncan had mentioned a cache of Grey Warden weapons and armor stored at a warehouse in the capital. I glanced at Alistair's battered scabbard. He could use a better sword. All our weapons had seen hard use in the last months.

I longed to see my father and cousins, as well, and find out if anything had happened to them. I still remembered the pain in my father's eyes the day I'd left. His hopes and plans for my future had been scattered in blood soaked pieces through Denerim castle. And what of Shianni, and the women Soris and I were supposed to have married? Were they still in Denerim? Or had they returned to Highever? Those thoughts and darker possibilities occupied me for the rest of the day. I felt thin with worry by the time I told the others at dinner that night of where we would go next after buying supplies.

Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I've always wanted to see the market in Denerim. I've heard merchants from all over Thedas and Ferelden can be found there."

Sten frowned. "We are supposed to be fighting Darkspawn, not attending…fairs."

"More delays," Morrigan said. "Continue this dithering, and the darkspawn will overwhelm us before the battle even starts."

"We are gathering allies, my dear," Wynne said. "And that sometimes requires one to -"

"Are you never done with lecturing?" Morrigan snapped, slamming her bowl on the ground.

Wynne stiffened. "I am merely trying to point out-"

"Why do you always feel the need to tell the rest of us what to think?"

"Why won't you let me finish a thought?" Wynne said, rising to her feet, one hand clenching her spoon.

"Oh, you have room for thinking? I'd thought there wouldn't be any left, after all that drivel the tower's poured into your head."

The temperature around the campfire rose and plummeted, then rose again, as the two mages glared at one another.

"You might have learned-"

"Enough!" I said, bounding to my feet, afraid that whatever Wynne might be going to say next would involve defending the tower and its policies. Both women turned their glares on me. Fire and ice played over my skin.

"I agree with the witch," Sten said. "We need to focus our attention on fighting the darkspawn."

"I am focusing my attention," I said -through clenched teeth.

Sten rose -and added his glare to the others. "You are letting yourself be distracted-"

My sword was half drawn and my dagger fully out before I even realized what I was doing. The air shimmered with tension and gathered magic. Leliana opened her mouth.

"Don't," I said, pointing my dagger at her. "Don't …say …a word."

I twisted around and stalked off past where the horses were tethered, still holding my weapons, not stopping till I found the small stream about twenty paces from our camp.

I stood next to the stream bank, shaking, my breathing ragged. Blasted _shem. _With their constant bickering and second-guessing. Yet, when the hard choices came, all of them, including Alistair, always looked to me. I didn't want that responsibility. I didn't need it. I needed… Blessed Creators, I didn't know what I needed. Only that the road stretched out long and dark before me, filled with black blood and blacker choices. Who was I to make them? Who was I to decide if a child lived or died? Or what treaty should be pursued next? Or how we should go about convincing potential allies to help us fight this bloody war against the Blight?

I sank to my knees beside the stream, easing my sword back into its sheath, but still clenching my dagger. The one Duncan had bought for me, my only connection to the man who should be making these decisions, not me.

A twig snapped behind me. "Just leave me alone," I said. I didn't need some _shem_…

"Well, if that is what you truly wish, then I'll go," Zevran said behind me.

"Wait," I said, re-sheathing my dagger as I twisted around.

"Yes?" His voice was a soft purr. How did he get so many possibilities in one word? And one half-smile that promised and teased at the same time?

I swallowed. "Why are you here?"

He didn't answer at first, just settled beside me and picked up a stone from the stream bank. He studied it a moment, and then passed it from finger to finger like a street entertainer might do with a large copper disc.

I'd done the same; it was a way to build dexterity and strength in the fingers. I reached out, and my hand closed over his. I'd meant to slip the stone from his grasp, but once my fingers closed around his I couldn't release him. No, I didn't want to. I sat there, staring at the wet grey stone that gleamed in the early evening sun, my heart beating faster, his flesh pressed against mine.

He moved closer, and I felt his warm breath on the side of my face. "You are a drawn bow, pointed at everything…and nothing. That is not a good thing." His lips brushed my cheek. "You need a target."

My fingers tightened around his. "You just want to fuck me." Even so, I couldn't release his hand.

"What are you afraid of? We both want this, yes?" His other hand slipped across my cheek, and it sent a shiver of desire down my spine. The little control I had left was fraying, dissolving like mist in the heat of the sun.

I closed my eyes, and his fingers slipped past my cheek, trailed down the side of my neck and came to rest at the base of my throat. I heard his breathing quicken, but his hand stayed still, though the fingers of the hand I held slipped between, then tightened, around mine.

Zevran was right. I was afraid. Afraid of what sleeping with him might lead to. Afraid of getting my heart entangled with a man who flitted from lover to lover like a stray beam of sunlight, seeking a bit of sweetness here and there, but never settling on one. I wasn't like that. I needed someone to stay, to wake beside me in the morning, and know that he would be there for more than a quick tumble. I didn't need forever, but I did need someone I could give more than just my body to.

I opened my eyes and pulled back so I could look into his. They burned bright in the early evening sun. Blessed Creators, how the soft light burnished him, giving rosy highlights to his skin and setting his hair shimmering.

I released his hand and slipped my hands behind his neck, then interlaced my fingers so that my thumbs extended up into his soft hair. A stray breeze brushed gold strands across his face. He smiled. And it was real and warm, with nothing of the artifice he usually wore.

I swallowed. "Yes, I want it…you. But...it's complicated."

He touched my cheek at the edge of the markings my mother had given me when I was fifteen, only a few months before she died. "It can be made so. But moments for the kind of pleasure we can give one another don't come along very often, so why not take them when they are offered?"

"This from a man who bragged about taking three prostitutes at one time?" It slipped out before I could stop it, and my heart thudded, but he only chuckled.

"Yes, that was a most memorable night, but that was just sex, not…pleasure."

My heart flipped over. "So, pleasure and sex aren't the same?" It seemed an odd distinction to me.

He waved a hand. "Yes and no. Sex is certainly pleasurable, and I have…hmmm… a fair…" He laughed, and laid his other hand on my shoulder. "Ah, let's be honest, I have a considerable amount of skill. I've picked up a number of techniques over the years that won't leave you disappointed." His smiled deepened. "Now, as for pleasure…you intrigue me, my dear Warden. All fire and steel. Strong and fierce, yet you can bend without breaking. Yield without losing. And when you fight, it's like watching a fine dancer. But dancing is much more fun when done with a partner, yes?"

I kissed him, a brief hard press against his soft lips. Maybe it was a mistake. For it was certainly an invitation, and not the first I'd given him. And, oh, Blessed Creators, what he'd just told me made the decision even harder. He would deny it, probably even be offended by it if I suggested it, but it seemed he also needed more than just a warm and willing body. Or maybe I was only reading my own need into his desire.

I gazed at him, so close to yielding to the fire that danced over my skin. I didn't doubt he was as skilled as he claimed, and I wasn't ignorant about sex. Ah, Creators, I didn't know what to do. But I couldn't keep going back and forth like this.

My fingers brushed down the side of his face, following the curve of his _vallaslin._ He was right. Death could find us at any time. And if it came, I didn't want my last memories of life to be only of blood and steel.

"We'll be at Brandel's Landing in a few days. I've been told there's a very comfortable inn there."

He smiled. "Ah, I see. You prefer a bed."

"For the first time between us, yes. And a little more privacy than we have here would be nice, too."

I glanced at the sun. We had at least an hour before darkness claimed the sky.

Rising, I pulled off my shirt and draped it over a bush by the stream. Then I pivoted back, drawing my blades as I did. I smiled.

"In the meantime, come… dance with me."


	38. Chapter 38

_As always, many thanks to all those who've added this story to favorites/alerts and taken the time to review. Your comments are greatly appreciated. And thanks to my beta, brownc0at. I'll get those pesky commas under control, yet._

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**Zevran Arainai**

I rose, keeping my eyes on his while he stepped back, his weapons loose in his hands, waiting. The hard lines of tension were softened, but his body still hummed with it. A flick of his wrist, and his sword twirled in his hand. His smile deepened, and he took another step back, teasing me into pulling off my own shirt and drawing my blades.

So simply was the matter of bedding settled between us. No coy games. No dickering for favors or advantages. I found it quite refreshing. The cracks in the stones around my heart widened further, becoming gaps I could pass my fist through. Training told me to push the stones back together, but it seemed…pointless.

He moved to the center of the small grassy clearing beside the stream. We started with slow steps, testing each others reflexes, warming up to the main event. This was different from the session in the indoor practice room at the castle, even the one in the herb garden. While both times he'd fought well, he'd seemed distracted there. Here…I smiled. Here he was focused on me, and on how we moved together. Perhaps because the issue between us was settled, and he was no longer distracted by uncertainty.

I laughed, and while a question crossed his face, he never faltered, never hesitated as he lunged forward in earnest. His dagger intercepted my blade on an overhand stroke.

"What's so funny?" he asked, before skipping back, our blades drawing sparks as they slid past one another.

I pressed forward with small lunges, nothing beyond his ability to easily parry. Then I whirled and came in close, my sword blade sliding down the length of his, till hilt met hilt. So close, our bodies almost touched.

"I know what this dance is," I said, and laughed again before backing off.

He came back with a series of overhand cuts. "And what is that?"

I came in low, and he blocked my sword, while my dagger pushed out his. I leaned in till his lips were a whisper from mine.

"Foreplay."

His pushed me back with a surge, but he was smiling. We continued the dance till I felt sweat snaking down my spine, soaking the waistband of my pants, and trickling into my eyes. Our blades chimed and sang as they kissed one another, sometimes teasing, sometimes drawing sparks. It had been a long time since someone had pushed me this hard for this long. He was magnificent. And when he stepped back and signaled the end of the dance by lowering his weapons, his sides heaving, I will admit I didn't want it to end.

"I can go all night," I said between pants.

He laughed as he slipped his blades back into their sheaths. "So can I, but night is falling. I prefer to dance in the light where I can see."

"So do I."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, then scooped up his shirt and bowed to me before heading back to the camp. I stared at his retreating form, fading into the tree shadows. I laughed, to hear my own words returned to me, and then followed him back to camp.

* * *

After setting up camp for the next few nights, we retreated to an open area nearby, my Warden and I, and danced between the lengthening shadows. He taught me how to fight darkspawn, and as I'd promised, I continued teaching him what I knew of sword play - at least the steel kind. I was content to wait for the other. Anticipation can be sweeter than the act itself. After the dancing, we would talk before heading back to the camp, sitting so close we touched, his arm draped around my hips…and mine around his. Well, I did most of the talking. I told him stories about life in Antiva. Some made him blush, but all made him smile. And I was glad for that. Frowns did not suit his nature.

To my relief, and I'm sure my Warden's, the bickering between Wynne and Morrigan shifted to cool courtesy. The beautiful witch retreated to her fire at the edge of camp after dinner every night. Sten still seemed to disapprove of our destination, but he said nothing. As for Leliana, she smiled and played her lute. She really was quite good, a pretty voice, clear and pure as spring rain.

As for the ex-templar, well, he still watched me like a cat sizing up its prey, the way he watched me now as my Warden and I returned from our practice. Alistair frowned, and then returned to polishing his shield.

"You know," I said -as I settled on a log- "you keep doing that, and you won't have to ram your opponents. Just flash it in their eyes."

Darrian moved past me and placed his weapons inside his tent before returning and pouring some mugs of hard cider from a jug we'd bought from a farmer that morning.

Alistair glanced up from his polishing. "I believe in fighting fair, not…sneaking around."

I chuckled. "When someone's trying to kill you, my dear ex-templar, there's no such thing as a fair fight. Or hadn't you noticed that your fellow Warden also...sneaks around?"

He frowned, then sighed. "All right, point taken. And I'll admit that it can be…effective. But, it still doesn't seem fair."

"Yes, well, life is hardly fair now, is it? So, why not make use of anything that offers one an advantage?"

Darrian came up and handed me a mug, then sat beside me, the firelight picking out the jewel-like flecks in his eyes.

"Because the Maker wishes us to be better than we are," Leliana said, coming up behind us. With her skill at playing and her beauty, I sometimes forgot the bard had once been a lay sister, a profession that seemed most unsuited to her nature. Her fingers moved across her lute strings, and she started playing something sad and sweet that sounded vaguely familiar.

"Do you recognize it?" Leliana asked me.

"Should I?" The cider was sweet and cool going down my throat.

"It's Antivan. I found it in a dusty corner of the Arl's library. I recognized the language, but I couldn't read the lyrics. The melody is so sad and sweet, it must be a love song, no?" She glanced at my Warden and a faint flush, not from the exercise, touched his cheeks.

"I…there are many songs from Antiva. I am not familiar with that one. Now, give me a good drinking song or one about bedding a lusty woman, preferably two who-"

"Whoa…don't need details," Alistair said, his cheeks turning bright pink.

"It's quite lovely," Wynne said, gliding up to stand closer to the fire. "Maybe Zevran could translate it for you."

"Ah, one lovely woman offering my services to another. How could I refuse such a generous request?"

Wynne shook her head. "Child, you are shameless." But she was smiling when she said it.

"Hmmm, you're not the first woman…or man, for that matter, to tell me that."

"And I probably will be far from the last," she retorted in good humor.

I laughed. I love a woman with spirit, and not afraid to show it. Darrian, cradling his cup in his hands, glanced at me and smiled, then turned his attention back to the fire dancing in the circle of stones before us. Inwardly, I sighed, dramatically, I'll admit, at the prospect of another night sleeping alone. Well, only one more. We would be in Brandel's Landing before lunch tomorrow.

"Ah, here it is," Leliana said, looking up from her pack. She held a heavy piece of cream colored paper in one hand.

"You stole it?" Alistair said, looking very offended.

"No, no, no. I made a copy." She laughed, like wind chimes. "I stole the paper I made the copy on. Lady Isolde will never miss it."

Alistair laughed as he put aside his polishing. "Well, that's all right then."

Leliana rose and skirted the fire to hand me the paper. When she returned to her seat she started playing a drinking song.

I drained my mug, and then set it on the ground before looking at the lyrics penned in her clear, neat hand. Darrian leaned over to look at the sheet. So close, and so far. My heart still quickened.

The language was old, but not so old I couldn't read it. Leliana's instincts had been right; it was a love song, a _tregedia_, popular in the expensive brothels that the nobles in Antiva favored.

My face never changed, but the cold hollow feeling I'd had following Rinna's death returned as I scanned the lyrics. My fingers tightened on the paper. I willed them to relax. The song told of a woman who'd thought her lover had betrayed her. After she kills him, she discovers the truth. I wanted to burn it, but I only stood and handed the paper back

. "I'm sorry, my fair Orlesian flower, but this is a very old song. Too old for me to read. Perhaps some scholar in Denerim can help you."

"Oh, I had been hoping…ah, well, it's still a pretty thing, no?"

I forced a smile. "Yes, very pretty."

Then I turned and gathered up my blades and headed for my tent, next to Darrian's at the edge of the firelight. I stowed my blades and when I turned back to the fire, I found him just a step away from me, Tam sitting on his haunches beside him.

I smiled. "Well, have you-"

"What did it say that upset you?" he asked, very softly. "I saw your hands tighten when you read the lyrics. But only because I was right next to you."

I waved my hand, as if the matter were of little importance. "As I said, it's an old song." Maker, he was perceptive.

This far from the fire, I could barely see his features. The mabari leaned against him.

"I asked Leli if she knew any Antivan songs. I thought…" His fingers brushed the back of my hand. "You seem to miss your home. I thought you might like to hear something…from there."

The cold knot in my belly loosened, and then it moved, inexplicably, from my belly to my throat. I sank down onto the ground in front of my tent. He followed, his fingers slipping between mine. I swallowed the knot in my throat. Between us, on the ground in the shadowed darkness, our fingers lay entwined, where only we could see. Well, us and that 'flea-bitten mongrel,' as Morrigan was so fond of calling him.

"I appreciate the thought," I said, and he squeezed my hand. "Perhaps our lovely bard will find something more suitable in Denerim. Antiva has quite a collection of…hmmm; I think it would translate as 'songs of the road.' They usually involve drinking…and bedding pretty women, of course."

"Of course." I didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling. We talked then of home, his and mine, of the good things that we both had left behind. And even for me, there were some. When we were tired of talking, we just sat, our fingers still entwined, and listened to the sounds of the lute drifting through the darkness.


	39. Chapter 39

_To all of those who've come along on this journey with me, my heartfelt thanks and appreciation, especially to those who've added this to alerts/favorites. As always. comments/feedback/random thoughts are welcome and help grow a better writer. Enjoy!_

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**Darrian Tabris**

I wandered in dreams of death and black blood. Of running through a forest of living flesh and bones piercing it like daggers. Of someone, or something, screaming in pain and terror, the sound wild and piercing.

Sometimes, in the haze of the dreams, a cup of cool water or cider was pressed against my lips. Or I tasted broth and soft bread, propped against someone who held the spoon to my lips, and who smelled like sweet thyme and some exotic spice. I remembered a cool wet cloth sliding across my skin, before I returned to dreams of a river of black blood flowing before me, and a thousand darkspawn chasing on my heels. I panted, my blades dripping with blood, my ears filled with the roaring of the horde behind me. No place left to run. No way to cross, so I turned and raised my weapons. Arrows pierced my left thigh and my dagger clattered to the stone floor of a cavern. I screamed a war cry and raised my blade.

Strong hands pushed me down and pinned my shoulders.

"It's a dream, my Warden, only a dream."

Familiar, that voice. I should know it, shouldn't I? I groaned. Every muscle hurt and my left leg, Blessed Creators, it was a wash of sharp pain from hip to knee.

I blinked, and the world became a soft blur of misty shapes, shadows without clear form or color, except for a wash of gold that shimmered close. I dragged my hand up and touched it; soft strands brushed my fingers with the lingering fragrance of sweet thyme. I smiled. My fingers drifted down and I felt skin, smooth and silken. My vision cleared, and I saw serpentine lines of blue curving down a man's cheek.

"Zevran? What are you doing in my dream?" My voice sounded hoarse, and my throat felt raw. The sheet I lay on felt damp. The one covering me clung to my skin.

"Thank the Maker, the fever's finally broken."

"Alistair?"

"Here, my friend," he said, and leaned towards me from the other side of the bed. He came into focus and then looked up. "I think you can let go of him." His voice had an edge in it.

Zevran muttered something in Antivan, then released me and limped out of the room

My vision cleared, and Alistair came into sharper focus. He had at least three days' worth of beard, and he looked like he hadn't slept in as long.

"You look worse than I feel," I said. He laughed.

Wynne came in then, carrying a tray with a bowl, a horn cup, and several small bottles. Zevran trailed her like a shadow, his face unreadable. Not bland or solemn, just hidden.

She set the tray on a nearby table. "How do you feel?" She laid a hand on the side of my forehead.

I realized then my left leg was propped up on pillows, splinted and heavily bandaged. And I wasn't even wearing small clothes. I closed my eyes. Ah, Blessed Creators. My cheeks got hot.

"Well, I'll take that as a good sign," Wynne said. "Now, do you remember what happened?"

I opened my eyes and focused on the ceiling, trying to dredge up memories and separate them from the nightmares.

"Darkspawn. On the road…they came out of the ground, right on top of us."

Alistair nodded. "Yes, we were less than half a league from the town when they attacked. Twenty of them."

My gut clenched. "The others?"

Wynne squeezed my shoulder. "They're fine. Some minor injuries." She glanced back at Zevran. "It could have been much worse."

"One came up right beneath your horse, my Warden," Zevran said. "It gutted her like a fishmonger, and she fell taking you with her. That's how your leg got broken; it was pinned beneath her."

"I don't remember that."

Wynne touched my head, and I winced at the tender spot she brushed over. "You hit your head on a rock when your horse fell. Sometimes that can cause a mild amnesia." She glanced at the tray. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten a few things. Zevran, could you get me a pitcher of water, please. And Alistair, I'm sure your fellow Warden would appreciate some fresh bedding."

After they left, she went over and closed the door. From the look in her eyes, I knew a lecture was coming. Wynne had a better memory than any of us.

"He hasn't left your side since we brought you here three days ago," she said.

"Alistair?"

She shook her head. "Zevran. Even when I threatened to turn him into a toad, he refused to leave." She shook her head. "I never would have thought him capable of…compassion."

"Because he's an assassin."

She nodded.

"He didn't choose his life, Wynne. It was chosen for him."

She settled in Alistair's chair. "I understand that. But there comes a time when we have to decide for ourselves what path we will walk."

"I think he did that when he pledged himself to me."

She gazed down at her hands folded in her lap then looked up. "I don't disagree with your decision to spare him, but I sometimes wonder why."

I shrugged, then winced at the splinters of pain it sent through my leg. "At the time it seemed the right decision." I touched the marks on my face, sacred to Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt. "All the others were dead and…"

"What, child?" she said, when I hesitated.

I pushed up on my forearms, ignoring the pain in my broken leg. "Wynne, I know you're going to disagree with this, but I'm not really that different from Zevran in some ways. I can kill if I have to. That doesn't mean I won't look for an alternative. The others were dead, and it seemed enough killing had been done that day."

"But you know killing is wrong. You have regrets. He doesn't."

"There are a few I don't regret," I said. "Some people deserve death."

The door opened then, and Alistair came in, clean sheets and fresh pillows piled in his arms. Leliana trailed behind him then glided up, and kissed me on the top of my head. Wynne was turned so I couldn't see her face while she fussed with the bottles on the tray. I had a feeling our conversation was far from over, that there were other things she wanted to discuss.

"Praise the Maker, you're doing better," Leli said, then smiled and patted my hand. Alistair dumped the bedding onto a chest.

Zevran appeared in the doorway, holding the pitcher, his face holding a smile, but the kind that hides more than it reveals. He set the pitcher on the small table next to the bed and then settled in a chair just beyond the reach of my fingers.

Wynne pressed a cup into my hand. "Drink this. It will help ease the pain."

It was only slightly bitter, and I downed all of it.

"How long till the Warden's leg is healed?" Sten said from the doorway. Morrigan hovered behind him.

"The sooner I can clear all of you out of here, the sooner I can get started." Wynne pointed to the door. "Even then, it will take several sessions just to knit the bone back together, and he needs to rest between each session." She glanced at Sten. "Two to three weeks. Rush it, and you might as well cut his leg off."

The Qunari nodded. "Rest then, Warden. We will leave as soon as you can ride."

He turned, and Morrigan pivoted out of his way before coming into the room, holding a small linen sack in her hand.

"The next time we fight darkspawn you might consider dismounting first." Tam, who had trailed her, nosed the sack and whined, a small soft sound.

"No, you've had quite enough already." Morrigan came up and dropped the small sack on the bed next to my hand. "The mangy beast is fond of these. Since he helped keep the darkspawn from your throat, it only seemed…fair that he have some reward for that."

"Thank you," I said to her retreating back. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Tis nothing; the mushrooms wouldn't have lasted another day."

Zevran chuckled. "Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say our beautiful Witch of the Wilds has become fond of the 'mangy beast.'"

Of course, Morrigan was well out of earshot by this time.

Tam looked at Zevran and made a sound halfway between a growl and a huff before settling on the floor next to the bed.

"Her words, not mine, my four-legged friend."

Wynne motioned at the door again. "As I was saying…"

Alistair laughed. "Yes, mother."

Leli squeezed my hand and then drifted out of the room behind Alistair. At Wynne's pointed look, Zevran only shrugged and leaned back in his chair. It was only then I noticed the shadows under his eyes.

"Remember what I said about toads?"

He chuckled. "You know, my lovely Wynne, all the times I've heard mages threatening that, and I've never seen it happen. Though, I'll admit I am curious as to what it would be like to be a toad. Not permanently, you understand. But it might be interesting to-"

Wynne's hand came up. "Don't even say it."

"What? I was only thinking that it might be interesting to catch flies with my tongue. One use I've never considered for it."

"Maker's balls," she muttered, and didn't quite slam the door. Behind her back, Zevran winked at me. She stayed at the door a moment, shaking her head, before she came to stand at the foot of the bed. The pain in my leg had eased from sharp daggers to a dull ache.

"Well, if you insist on staying, you can at least make yourself useful." Her demeanor softened when she addressed me. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt, even with the drugs I just gave you. Your leg was broken in several places, and I need to feel where the breaks are for the bone to knit properly. And the nerves are…sensitive to the flow of energy. I will try to be as gentle as I can but…" She glanced at Zevran. "You might have to hold him down."

He nodded and slipped off the chair, then pulled off his boots and eased onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to me.

Gently, Wynne lifted the sheet and I had my first look at my leg. Blood stained the bandages in places, but none of it looked fresh.

"The bone broke through the skin in two places. Those wounds are healed and there won't be any scars." She pulled the chair up close to the bed and sat down. "If I left this to heal on its own, we would be here months instead of weeks."

"I understand," I said, then swallowed and took a deep breath. "All right, let's get this over with."


	40. Chapter 40

_Thanks again to my beta, brownc0at, for reviewing and keeping those commas in line. And to those who've added this to favorites/alerts and reviewed. To you and also all those lurkers in the shadows, thanks for reading and coming along on this journey. It's been fun writing.

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**Zevran Arainai**

Wynne had barely begun when my Warden's back bowed in pain and his shoulders lifted off the bed. He hissed through clenched teeth as his hands knotted in the sheets.

I pushed his shoulders back down. "Look at me."

His eyes glittered, and he cried out. Wynne's mouth tightened, but she never looked up from her hands pressing against his leg, blue healing energy flowing from them and soaking through the bandages that covered his leg.

"My Warden, look at me," I said, bending close. His eyes opened and sought mine. Wynne was focused on her work, a soft chant falling from her lips. I knew from experience that when a healer is that deep in a healing, nothing else exists but the bond between healer and wound. But I still kept my voice low, so only he would hear.

"Well, this isn't quite how I planned our first time in bed together." He laughed; at least I think he did.

"….always on your mind?" he gasped.

"There are worse things to have on one's mind."

He gasped again, his eyes tight with pain.

"Hmmm, I never finished telling you about Antiva City, did I? You would like it, I think. At the end of summer the hills surrounding it are dry and yellow from lack of rain. But in the evening, when the sun pours down on them, they gleam like the red gold in a beautiful woman's hair."

His hand closed over mine on his shoulder and gripped it. He was panting, breathing too shallow and fast. My other hand slipped to his cheek.

"Slow your breathing, or you will pass out."

"That doesn't …sound …so bad."

My thumb caressed his cheek. "Trust me, my Warden, the pain will seem worse when you regain consciousness."

"Is that from…experience?" His hand tightened on mine, but his breathing slowed, becoming deeper and more regular.

"Ah, you mean the kind that comes from being stretched for hours on the rack? Or perhaps being whipped while you hang from the ceiling? I suppose those would qualify, though I can't speak from personal experience, of course."

I was sure this time he laughed, strained as it sounded. "Of course."

"I _can_ testify to the quality of the fish chowder served at a small inn in Antiva City on the seamier side of the docks that I'm rather fond of."

"The inn…or the chowder?"

I chuckled. "Both, actually. It's a surprisingly clean and pretty place, considering the cliental it serves. Street whores, cut-purses, cargo ship sailors-"

"Assassins?" He grimaced. "Ah, Blessed Creators-"

I twisted his ear tip hard, and he yelped, then glared at me. "That hurt."

"It was supposed to. But it took your mind off your leg, yes?"

His hand moved to my cheek, and he looked at me with annoyance, amusement, and something that reminded me of the way Rinna had regarded me. My heart contracted. That look he gave me frightened and beckoned at the same time.

"Next practice I won't…go…so easy," he murmured, then returned to gripping my hand still on his shoulder.

"That last one was easy? Hmmm, I'd hate to see hard, then. Now, back to the fish chowder. The innkeeper claims she uses a recipe passed down through several generations, a family secret, as it were."

I went on for some time about the chowder, and the docks, and the way the sun gilded the harbor in the evening. I don't know how long I talked, but when Wynne finally pulled her hands away, the sun was casting long thin shadows into the room. Darrian released a breath in a soft sigh. While he relaxed his grip on my hand, he didn't release it.

Wynne rubbed her eyes and leaned back. "Maker, I'm not as young as I used to be," she murmured.

"Lovely women never grow old, my dear Wynne."

"But they do get tired." She gently squeezed my Warden's arm. "This was the worst. The next one will hurt less." Her gaze lingered on his hand still holding mine. I eased out from his clasp.

"Some food, I think," I said as I slipped off the bed then glided out of the room. I paused in the narrow hallway after closing the door and leaned back against it. Morrigan wasn't the only woman with sharp eyes in our little band of heroes. And unlike her, Wynne was not inclined to read her own motivations into another's actions.

I glanced down at my feet. "_Mierda."_ I'd left my boots in the bedroom. I darted back in and retrieved them, leaving before Wynne could do more than notice I was back.

The inn cook was an elf, and at my request, she piled two generous bowls of chicken soup and fresh rolls onto a large tray. She even added an extra slice of butter cake. She was very married and very pregnant, but I blew her a kiss anyway as I backed out of the kitchen.

"Just leave the tray on the table outside the room when you're done. And if that Mabari is hungry, send him downstairs," she said, smiling, then turned back to her kneading.

The door was open when I returned, and it seemed Wynne had already taken care of the bedding. My Warden was even dressed, wearing a loose sleeveless shirt and trousers that had one pant leg cut off. Propped up with pillows, he looked more comfortable.

Wynne came over to inspect the bowls when I set the tray down on a small round table near the window. "Do you feel up to something more substantial than broth?"

"As long it isn't Alistair's lamb and pea stew," Darrian said.

She laughed. "I was hoping to forget about that."

"So was I," I murmured.

"It appears to be chicken soup," she said with a smile, then she looked at me. "Make sure he eats all of it. I'll be in the common room if you need me."

She even closed the door behind her when she left. It's not often I am left without words…speechless, I think is how Fereldans say it. This was one of those times.

"Uh, Zevran…"

Tam butted my leg. "All right, I can take a hint."

I had intended the second bowl for Wynne, thinking she would want to stay. I set it on the table together with some bread and a slice of cake before putting the tray on the table next to the bed.

"I can manage," my Warden said, as I handed him the bowl.

"This is much better than lamb and pea stew," he said, after the first mouthful.

Tam sat nearby, nose twitching and his ears cocked forward. I opened the door.

"I believe the cook of this fine establishment has something for you, my four-legged friend."

The Mabari glanced back at me and then trotted out of the room. I closed the door over, but did not shut it so the dog could nose his way back into the room when he was finished with his dinner.

The curtains drifted with the evening breeze that blew through the window while we ate. The sounds of a lute rippling through a dance tune sounded from the street below. Finished with my soup, I went over to the window and saw Leliana, wearing a dark green dress and green satin shoes. Now, where had she been hiding those in her travel pack? It was truly amazing how much she could stuff into that leather bag. But the fine clothes suited her, and she was gathering quite a large crowd in front of the inn.

"Leli?" my Warden asked.

I nodded. "She's singing for our supper." I settled in Wynne's chair. "An arrangement with the innkeeper. When she heard we'd eliminated the darkspawn cell that appeared so close to their town, she offered us lodging as payment. Our pretty Orlesian flower offered to play just for the money she can collect from the patrons." I smiled. "I think we might actually end up with a profit from this adventure."

He leaned back, and I collected the bowl. His eyes started to close, and he shook his head.

"I'll leave you to rest," I said, and gathered up the bowls and tray.

"I…oh, you're probably right," he mumbled, and sank back into the soft pillows.

I left the tray outside the door as the cook had requested and slipped back into the room. He was already asleep, breathing deep and easy, the lines of his body relaxed.

"Maker, let him sleep without dreams," I whispered.

His screams and cries during his fever dreams had not carried beyond the room because of Morrigan's spells, while Wynne focused her healing energy on fighting the fever that raged through him. Those screams had been hard to listen to, touching too close to memories I preferred not to unearth. And I didn't like to think of him in that kind of pain. But he seemed to be resting comfortably now.

The door opened wider, and Alistair stepped past me into the room. "Thank the Maker, he's finally sleeping…really sleeping."

The human had shaved, and his short hair was damp from a bath, but he still looked like something the cat had dragged through a bramble bush. As if I looked any better? I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. A bath sounded very good, then bed, a nice soft comfortable bed with lots of pillows. I didn't even mind the prospect of it being empty.

I turned to leave.

"Uh, Zevran?" Alistair said.

"Yes, my dear ex-templar?"

He grimaced. "Stop calling me that. I'm a Warden."

I grinned and struck a theatrical pose. "And an ex-templar. One who no longer hunts rogue mages, a fact I'm sure our beautiful Morrigan appreciates despite that she-"

"Is everything a joke to you?" he snapped, but kept his voice barely above a whisper.

I glanced at Darrian. "Not everything, but humor does help one keep perspective, yes?"

He closed his eyes, and his lips moved. It took me a moment to realize he was counting. I really did need that sleep if it took me so long to read him. After he'd reached ten, he opened his eyes.

"Maybe. But I was trying to tell you that I…appreciate what you've done for Arl Eamon, and for guarding Darrian during the darkspawn attack on the road."

"Glad I am to be appreciated, but skills tend to rust if they're not used."

Tam clattered up the stairs behind us, on purpose I think. The mabari could be quiet as a cat when he wanted to. He nosed between us, then sat and leaned against my hip. I had to brace myself or be knocked over.

"You took down three at once, alone… including an emissary," Alistair said quietly. "He'd be dead if you hadn't."

I shrugged. "Well, you seemed to be having so much fun ramming those genlocks, I hated to interrupt. It was only luck I was so close to him."

"It wasn't luck that killed them."

Tam shoved his head under my hand. "No, it wasn't. But if I may offer a word of advice, never underestimate the role of fortune in any endeavor."

"So, skill doesn't count?"

"If it didn't, neither of us would be having this conversation." I scratched Tam behind an ear. "But life has a maddening tendency to throw the unexpected into our faces."

He frowned in thought as his eyes shifted to my sleeping Warden. "Point taken. Now, let's leave him to rest, shall we?"

He opened the door and held it, looking pointedly at me. I heard him lock the door as I headed down the hall to my room to get some clean clothes before going to the inn's bathing room.

* * *

I sighed in contentment as I lay back in the wooden tub and slipped down till my chin was in the hot water. Some of life's best pleasures are also the simplest, I think. As I soaked, I went over my recent conversation with Alistair and chuckled when I realized he had actually complimented me on my skills. Not that he would admit that to me.

I left the clothes I'd worn for the last three days soaking in a small tub of hot water, then wrote the room number on the slate suspended above it. The inn servants would return them the next morning, cleaned and even ironed. I could get used to this.

The common room was quite crowded, the patrons wrapped up in an Orlesian ballad Leli was singing. A lively tune, and if it was the one I thought it was, a rather naughty one by Fereldan standards. I'm sure the innkeeper was happy with the increased business, since everyone seemed to be eating or drinking something.

Scanning the room, I spotted Sten and Alistair at a corner table, a single mug in front of each of them. The Qunari might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell from my perch at the foot of the stairs. Neither Wynne nor Morrigan were in the room. I assumed Wynne had retired, and as for our fair witch, she could be anywhere. Perhaps she was gathering more mushrooms.

I thought about staying and listening, but a nearby human frowned when he saw me. I pretended I didn't see it and left, being too tired and not in the mood to deal with _shem_ prejudice. At the head of the stairs I paused, and glanced down the hallway towards my room then at Darrian's. It would do no harm to check on him.

The lock was easy to pick, and I closed the door gently after I slipped inside. The sun was almost down, but someone, probably Wynne, had left a lamp burning in a wide shallow bowl of sand on the table near the bed.

Tam, settled on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifted his head to look at me then settled back to dozing.

My Warden was still sleeping, though he had slipped down the pillows a bit. I eased over and gazed down. The shadows were less under his eyes, but in the soft glow of the lamp he looked…fragile. Such an odd word for one so strong. But even the strongest of us are weaker than something, yes?

He stirred, and his eyes opened. He smiled when he saw me, sleep still clinging to his face, and took my hand. My throat tightened. Why did it keep doing that around him? He was fine. We all were, if a little worse for wear.

"I just came to check on you. I should let you rest."

"Stay with me," he said, his eyes soft as summer clouds.

"Wynne keeps threatening to turn me into a toad if I disturb you. And a leg broken as badly as yours makes sex problematic, at best."

His smile deepened. "I think I can restrain myself. I just…" He gazed at my hand clasping his. "I would welcome company… after those dreams."

Never, never show your soft spots. All that did was tell someone the best place to stick a dagger. That had been beaten into me during my training.

My fingers tightened around his. Foolish man, being so trusting of the one who had tried to kill him. But I hadn't given that my best, had I? He wasn't a fool. He'd suspected he was being led into a trap. That had been plain from the way he'd approached the wagons, eyes scanning the boulders on the ledges above him and one hand on his sword. There were better ways to take out a mark, and I had deliberately avoided them.

I slipped out of his grasp, but only so I could lock the door. I pulled off my boots and clothes, then slipped under the sheet, turning on my side facing him, my head propped on my hand.

"Was that a butterfly on your hip?" he asked, with something very close to a smirk.

"Hummingbird. And before you ask, I was very drunk when it happened. Unfortunately, such things are rather permanent."

His hand slipped up to my cheek then to the back of my neck. A gentle tug, and our lips met. Before the kiss could stir any fire, he broke it and rested his forehead against mine for a long moment. Then he settled back and closed his eyes, holding onto my hand.

Lying on my side, my head pillowed on my arm, I watched him fall asleep, then closed my eyes and joined him.


	41. Chapter 41

_Many thanks to those who've added this to favorites and alerts, and reviewed. Your support and comments are much appreciated. _

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**Darrian Tabris**

I woke at sunrise. Despite everything that had happened the last few days, it seemed old habits were hard to break. I risked a small stretch, and my leg only protested with a dull throb that quickly subsided. I flipped the sheet back and gently touched my thigh. I still didn't remember being pinned beneath the horse, though I did remember Zevran's face swimming into view when the battle ended, dark blood streaking his hair and armor.

He stirred beside me and opened his eyes. His fingers brushed my arm.

"Well, I haven't done that in a while."

"Just sleep with someone?"

He stretched, and it was a fine sight, like a sleek tawny cat coming awake.

"Hmm, that and not having to stick a dagger in them…or worry about them sticking one in me."

"Did you sleep with all your marks?" Part of me was bothered by that, part of me just accepted it. And Blessed Creators, I wasn't sure what to make of that last, of what it implied about me.

He pushed up till he was half reclining on the pillows, and then pulled up a leg so that the sheet tented around him. "Not all, my Warden. But one's last hours should be pleasant, shouldn't they? And there are poisons that give an easy death. One simply falls asleep, and the heart gradually slows till…" He shrugged. A gesture many would interpret as indifference, but I think he meant only that this was the way of things, and nothing could be done to change it.

"So, that wasn't…pleasure?" I wasn't sure why I asked that. He stiffened beside me then relaxed.

"No, my Warden, that was business." He didn't look at me when he spoke, and his voice was flat.

"Zevran?"

He looked at me with that damnable smile that showed nothing when he turned to me. "Yes?"

It was always a dance with him, slipping beneath one of his layers only to find he'd slid another into place behind me when I wasn't looking. "I'm not…."

I stared at the ceiling. The intimacy of simply sharing a bed had started to fray, and I wanted that back, needed it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you took physical pleasure in killing. It's just…I'm not used to thinking of sex as a tool…or a weapon." I turned my head so I could look at him. "And, forgive me, but making someone's last hours 'pleasant' doesn't seem like a typical assassin strategy. Not that I know all that much about your profession."

It was his turn to stare at the ceiling for a while, but his face softened. He turned on his side and shifted closer, laying one hand on my shoulder and propping up his head with his other.

"To be honest, it's not. I may have been an instrument of fate in many cases, but that's no reason to deny prey a quick, clean death." He smiled, the one that let me peek beneath the surface he always showed others. "Sex, like a lot of things, can serve many needs. That was perhaps one advantage of growing up in a whorehouse. One learns the realities of the whys and wherefores of physical pleasure, not those silly ideals the Chantry tries to force on everyone."

Free of his usual braids, his hair fell forward to cover his face when he kissed my shoulder. I slipped my fingers into those silken strands, then buried my nose in his hair. He smelled like sweet thyme and musk, and the first stirring of spring.

"Hmmm, I'm sure we can find a way around my leg," I murmured, and kissed him. He moaned softly in the back of his throat. My fingers tightened in his hair.

"Well, if you're certain," he murmured. His hand slipped under the loose pants I wore, and he started caressing me. I sucked in a breath. Oh, Creators, I had never been more certain of anything.

The door swung open, and my head jerked up. Wynne stood in the doorway, Alistair holding a tray behind her. He blushed scarlet, then mumbled something before brushing past the healer, setting the tray on a table, then bolting from the room.

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, but Zevran only gave Wynne that lazy smile he showed the outside world.

She didn't say a word, just closed the door behind Alistair, then came to stand at the foot of the bed and folded her arms. The temperature in the room didn't shift, but her eyes were ice blue, not the warm turquoise I usually saw.

"You…are supposed to be resting."

"I can assure you, my dear Wynne, he rested quite comfortably last night."

Her eyes narrowed. "I trusted you to do the right thing."

Zevran sat up. In the space below a fold of the sheet, I saw his hand tighten on the mattress, though the rest of his body looked loose and relaxed.

"I am quite capable of just sleeping with someone, lovely one. He is still as pure as the virgin snow…unfortunately."

I covered my eyes with my hand, but not from embarrassment. I felt laughter wanting to bubble its way out of my throat at the tones Zevran used. Flippant, challenging, sarcastic and placating, all at once.

"Oh, Blessed Creators," I murmured, then gave up trying to control it. They both stared at me. I seemed to have a knack for that. Well, my father had always accused me of laughing at the most inappropriate times.

"I asked him to stay, so be angry with me if you need to chastise someone," I said after my initial outburst subsided.

Wynne closed her eyes. "Just leave, Zevran, before I change my mind about turning you into a toad…permanently."

She turned around and opened the door, then stepped through to wait in the corridor outside.

Zevran sighed and threw back the sheet. I grabbed his arm before he could slide off the bed, and motioned him closer. He leaned down.

"I haven't been 'as pure as the virgin snow' since I was sixteen," I whispered, then gently suckled his ear lobe. He shivered.

"_Mierda,_ that was cruel, my Warden." Then he smiled and kissed my cheek.

He quickly pulled on his clothes, snatched up his boots and sauntered out of the room. As soon as he was clear of the door, Wynne returned and closed it behind her.

She seemed more disappointed than angry now.

"He didn't betray you. I _did_ ask him to stay, and not because he seduced me." Irritation, close to anger, had replaced my initial embarrassment. Not at being 'caught', but at the lack of courtesy shown by her failure to knock. The typical _shem_ notion that an elf was 'available' for whatever a human wanted, even if that did involve healing.

"You have a duty and a responsibility-"

"Which I intend to fulfill. But I'm not going to sacrifice my heart to it."

She looked down past her folded arms, then back up at me. "I forget how young you are sometimes. Duty often demands sacrifices, including those of the heart. What if you are forced to choose between your heart and your duty?"

Always she spoke of this, and then it occurred to me why she might. "Were you?"

Her face froze and then smoothed over. "We are not discussing my life, but yours."

"Yes, and it is _my_ life. No one has the right to decide how I should live it but me." Especially not a _shem_, no matter how wise she may seem. It may not have been fair, but I wondered sometimes if she would have felt the same if I was human. Since elves were always servants, and what was a Grey Warden but another kind of servant?

"Wynne, you talk as if love and duty must always exclude one another. Can't love give you the strength and reason to fulfill your duty?"

She smiled sadly. "I have said what I must. Perhaps some lessons you must learn for yourself." She picked up a bowl from the tray and set it next to the bed. "Eat, and take care of…other needs. Then I'll check your leg."

Breakfast was oatmeal with raisins, walnuts, and a generous serving of honey. When I looked up from the bowl she was gone. Alistair peeked around the corner. I couldn't help smiling.

"It's safe to come in."

"You could have warned us."

"You could have knocked."

He glanced at the place where Zevran had been lying, then looked away, blushing. "Uh, you two weren't…um….you know?"

I was so tempted to say yes, since Zevran and I had started. But Alistair was a good friend, and I didn't want to embarrass him any more than he already was.

"No."

"Well, that's good…I guess. Isn't it?" he said, and sat down with a sigh. "Are you sure about…you know….with him?"

I smiled. "I like him, Alistair."

"But he tried to kill you….kill us."

"Not recently."

"Maker's breath, is love always this complicated?" he muttered.

I picked up my spoon. "In my experience, yes and no." I started eating, and he poured a cup of cider from the pitcher on the tray and handed it to me, then poured one for himself.

"So, you have a lot of…experience?"

I put down my spoon. "It depends on how you define it. In terms of the number of lovers? No. In terms of intensity? Yes. And I don't mean just the physical side of it."

He flushed slightly, then took a long drink of cider and leaned back. "So, you don't find it hard to talk about…things?"

"Not with the right person. If you can't talk about it with them, who can you?"

"They never talked about it in the Chantry. Well, I mean they talked about where babies come from and how…sort of. But it was always pretty clear you didn't do anything unless you were married."

I put the half-finished bowl on the table. "That's not an option for me."

He looked up, startled. "But didn't your father arrange a marriage?"

"Yes, but I never told him my interests mostly lay….elsewhere." I leaned back. "That's where the complicated part comes in, at least for me."

"You weren't going to go through with it? Were you? I mean…the woman…" His voice trailed off, and he started looking uncomfortable again, but at least he wasn't blushing.

"If you're going to say it wouldn't be fair to her, you're right. But to be honest, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I joked with my cousin Soris about running away before…before Vaughn showed up." I tilted my head back and studied the cobwebs in a corner. "I might actually have run. But that would have meant I could never show my face at home again, especially if my father ever found out the reason for my leaving."

Alistair frowned. "You mean he would have disowned you?"

I looked back at him. "I don't know. Maybe. Or he may have accepted what I am. Either way, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"No, I guess it doesn't," he said, and stared into his cup. "Unless you plan on telling him when we arrive in Denerim."

I rubbed my face. "Oh, Blessed Creators." That hadn't even occurred to me. But my father had the right to know. Though the thought of telling him frightened me more than any battle I'd faced so far. Outside of my cousins, he was the only family I had left. I think my mother would have understood, but she was long gone, dead at the hands of a human guard who thought she hadn't given him the proper respect.

Alistair drained his cup then set it on the table. He nodded at my bowl. "You'd better finish that, or Wynne is going to turn me into a toad."

"And she'll probably turn me into one if I don't," I said, and picked up my spoon.


	42. Chapter 42

_To all of those -reviewers and lurkers in the shadows - who are following this story, my heartfelt thanks. Over a hundred reviews as of the last chapter. You guys are awesome, in your support and comments. Thank you for taking the time to drop a few lines about your thoughts and feelings. It is much appreciated. _

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**Zevran Arainai**

Despite my earlier comments, I wasn't entirely certain Wynne couldn't turn me into a toad, or wouldn't, if I seemed to give her a good enough reason. For the moment at least, it was not a theory that would be put to the test. I was barely past the door when she turned and slipped back into my Warden's room.

"Maker's breath," I heard behind me. I turned to find Alistair leaning against the wall and rubbing his face.

"Something in your eye, my dear ex-templar?"

He jerked away from the wall, then glared at me. "You…you…."

I hadn't exactly promised my Warden I would no longer 'bait' Alistair, and this opportunity was just too good to pass up. "Yes? You were thinking perhaps of…joining us?"

He surged forward, fist raised. I ducked beneath it, darting past him and pivoting. He wasn't a graceful man, but he was fast, and by the time I turned around, he had recovered and was coming in for another swing. I skipped back, grinning.

"If I'd known you'd enjoyed dancing so much-"

"Stop it," he said, pulling back, his hands clenched. "Stop making everything a joke. And…other things." This came from a man who made jokes to cover up his own fears.

"What 'other things'?"

"You know…with all the suggestions about…." he said, waving his hand.

"Ah, this is about my sleeping with your fellow Warden. I assure you, my dear ex-templar, it was merely sleeping and nothing else...unfortunately."

He glowered at me but didn't raise his fists. "I don't like you taking advantage of him."

"Let me assure you… again… that there was no, 'taking advantage of.' Where sex is concerned, I do not stick my nose where it is not wanted."

From the diminishing color in his cheeks, it seemed his anger and embarrassment were fading. His eyes narrowed as he studied me. I'm sure our beautiful witch would have made some comment at that point about rusty gears, or slow moving wheels. But he wasn't stupid, and more perceptive than even he realized, I think.

"All right, I'll accept that for now."

The door opened, and before Wynne could spot me I slipped away from him and down the hall to my room. After I closed my door, I leaned against it a moment, gazing at my bed. Four nights we'd been here, and I had yet to sleep in it.

Desire stirred when I thought of my Warden's soft lips. I smiled, thinking of his last words to me…and his last gesture. Fire flickered over my skin. I set my boots on the floor before I eased over to the bed and settled on it. I gazed down at myself and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Over the next several healing sessions my Warden's leg responded well to Wynne's healing. At the end of the fourth session, as she removed the bandages and splints, she told him he needed to start walking to strengthen the muscles and regain mobility. I was present for all the healing sessions. While she frowned at me, she didn't chase me away or even try to discourage me from staying.

It took a week for her to repair the breaks, with about a day for resting in between each session. Everyone, even Morrigan, came by to see him every day, though the lovely witch would only stay a few minutes. She always left a bundle of sweet smelling herbs, or some treats for Tam, who devoured them greedily. Sten had discovered cookies at a baker's stall in the market, and brought different ones for my Warden to try. Leliana played her lute, and talked about market gossip. I wasn't sure how interested he really was in that, but he smiled at her stories, and it was good to see. And Alistair came of course, though he always gave me odd sideways looks, as if he still couldn't quite decide what to do with me.

Fortunately, those sessions after the first were far less painful, though he still held my hand during them. And I slept with him every night, though our physical intimacy went no further than kisses. The intensity of the healing sessions, even with rest, left him very drained. He fell asleep quickly. I think I could have tossed him off the inn's roof in the middle of a raging storm and he wouldn't have stirred. Even so, those kisses were sweet with passion's promise, and waking beside him in the morning quite pleasant.

He was free of darkspawn dreams till the night after the last healing session to repair the breaks, when the splints and bandages were removed. He woke, gasping, eyes wide in the lamplight. At least, he looked awake. My fingers brushed his shoulder, and he cried out, grabbing my wrists and pinning me against the mattress with his body. In the dim light of a single lamp, his pupils were almost fully dilated, anger and fear contorting his features.

"Let him go… let him go," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Let who go, my Warden?"

His hands tightened painfully on my wrists. "I won't let you have him."

"It's a dream, my Warden, only a dream," I said softly.

He stared at me, then the anger drained out of him and he released his grip, twisting around to sit with his knees drawn up and his arms clutched around his legs, his body trembling. His hands were clenched, white knuckled in the sheet.

It seemed so natural to slip my arms around him and pull him close. He turned and buried his face in my hair, his arms sliding around my torso.

"They're more than dreams," he whispered, his voice steady despite his trembling. "We can hear them….the darkspawn, and they can hear us. Sometimes, they call."

"Did they call tonight?"

His arms tightened around me. "They called me to a feast. My father was there." His breath caught as if he were choking back a cry. "They were…feeding on him. I saw that at Ostagar. They fed on the dead soldiers…ripping them apart."

My stomach turned over, and I remembered the stink of rotten meat as the darkspawn had erupted from the ground.

"So, they can read your mind?"

"I don't think so. It's more like they sense…things…strong emotions." He shuddered again. "I've been thinking a lot about my kin these last few days."

His arms slid up to embrace my neck, and he moved closer. The lamplight flickered over his hair, pulling russet and amber tones from it. Loose, it spilled over his shoulders, brushing creamy skin. Muscled and sleek, he was exquisite, like a fine sword. I sighed and closed my eyes, drinking in the scent of him, a sweet musk mingled with something that reminded me of the sun-drenched afternoons of late summer in the high hills around Antiva City.

I am well acquainted with desire, with all its subtleties and scents. And he was no stranger to passion. Yet I felt as if something new lay before me, something undiscovered despite all the women and men I had pleasured, and been pleasured by.

Then his head moved, and I heard the rhythm of his breathing shift, going deeper and stronger, as his lips brushed my cheek, kissing a path to my ear.

"Lay with me, Zevran. Let me feel myself inside you. Let me feel connected to something other than steel and death…and blood."

My lips found his, and I pulled him down with me, mindful of his still healing leg. In his mouth, I tasted sweet desire, as well as the fire that consumes and replenishes. His hand drifted down my side, fingers trailing over my skin, tracing the path of the twisting endless knot that followed the muscle contours of my hips and thighs. A path of fire followed in the wake of his touch. Ah, Maker, pleasure that burns down your skin like this, makes your heart thrum and beat like a dancer's drum, doesn't come along very often.

I buried my hands in his thick hair, my face in his neck, tasting him, savoring him and taking small bites. I reveled in his scent and the silky heat of his skin pressed against mine. We explored one another with hands and lips and tongues, passion flaring in the wake of our journey over one another's bodies. There didn't seem to be any part of him that wasn't responsive. Everywhere I touched him with tongue or fingers brought sweet moans. Everywhere he touched and tasted me, I gave them back.

He was a sweet torment and a sweeter delight. His desire demanded everything when he finally entered me and claimed his pleasure, his strong arms wrapped around my chest, holding me tight, as if he would pull me inside himself, his thighs pressed against the back of mine, his lips and tongue moving so lightly across my shoulder.

He made love with fierce tenderness, wrapped up in his own need and yet, by the way he moved inside me, aware of mine at the same time. Fire and steel, I thought between pants. Maker, he _was_ fire and steel, wrapped in silk and velvet. I smiled when he came, crying out, his orgasm so intense I felt it shivering down the length of his legs pressed against mine and through his torso, as his fingers dug into my flesh.

And then… he yielded his body fully, completely, without reservation, for my needs. What he had taken from me, he offered back in equal measure.

When our mutual passion was finally and fully spent, and before I could, he slipped off the bed and limped over to a side table holding a basin and a wash cloth. He cleaned us both off, his hands light and gentle. Somehow, that simple act was more intimate than what we'd just shared. Afterward, he lay curled against me under the sheet, his head in the hollow of my right shoulder and his arm lying across my chest.

I fingered a strand of his hair and held it out, letting the lamplight shine through it. I was sated and content, and surprisingly, not sleepy at all.

"You are a most intriguing lover," I said, draping my arm around his shoulders. Our bodies fitted so well together. I kissed his hair. Making love with him had been like a dance where I knew, if not all, then many of the steps, though that familiarity had done nothing to blunt passion or pleasure.

His fingertip traced the outline of a feathered endless knot, a Crow mark for one's first kill as a full assassin, in the hollow of my left shoulder. "Hmm, I've never been called that before."

I nuzzled his hair. "I'm sure your lovers called you many things, all of them good."

He laughed. "All two of them."

"Only two? Ah, you jest with me again; surely they were lined up outside your door."

"No," he murmured. "Never." He lifted his head and looked at me. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"You forget, my Warden, I grew up in a whorehouse. Somebody was always waiting outside somebody's door. Sometimes, two somebodies." My nose wrinkled at the dicey phrasing. "Did I just say that?"

He laughed then pushed up so he was leaning on his arm. The way he was looking at me sent a shiver through the cracked stones around my heart, widening the spaces between them yet again.

"Well, as the priestess said to the famous actor, 'What now?'" I joked.

He arched a brow at me. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

My fingers traced the curve of his jaw then trailed down his neck. I saw possibilities in his eyes I shouldn't want.

"What happens next is entirely up to you, my Warden. I will make no claims on you, nor ask more than you are willing to give. You are free to pursue whatever fancies you wish."

"So, we take it on the wing?"

I smiled, remembering Ser Meril. In a small corner of my mind, I wondered what had happened to him, if he had, like a few others, survived Ostagar.

"Hmmm, is that so terrible?"

Ah, the way he looked at me. I could see his answer in his eyes. Unlike him, I was raised to know only pleasure and death, where love had no place. But he only laid his head back on my shoulder and his hand over my heart.

"No, I understand."

Why did I feel that he meant something deeper than what I'd just said? He had a habit of doing that, of seeing beneath layers, then slipping between them as smoothly as a master thief, yet at the same time taking only what was freely offered.

I interlaced my fingers on his shoulder and, if possible, he shifted closer, draping his leg over mine. He winced, muscles tightening, rippling against my skin before he relaxed.

"Perhaps we should…disentangle, my Warden?"

He kissed the hollow of my shoulder, then settled back. "No, I'm comfortable. Unless you…?"

My hand slipped off his shoulder to rest against his cheek. "No, I'm fine. But if I wake up all cramped in the morning, I'm blaming you."

He smiled against my skin, then closed his eyes, and we both drifted into sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

_Many thanks to all who are making this journey with me, and for your reviews, favoriting and alerts. Your support is much appreciated. And especially to brownc0at for being my beta.

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_

**Darrian Tabris**

The town was larger than I expected, with a lively market in the center. Though, I wouldn't have cared if it hadn't been more than a single muddy street with a few houses thrown up on either side. It felt good to be out of the inn, to feel the sun on my face and the light summer breeze flowing past.

Zevran had slipped out of the room before I awoke that morning, and my heart had contracted when I found him gone, thinking that now that he had bedded me he would flit somewhere else. But the thought had barely crossed my mind when the door opened, and he slipped in, smiling, balancing a breakfast tray on one hand, and holding a walking stick carved like a long legged bird in the other, Tam trailing him.

I glanced down at the stick, then up at my lover strolling beside me. I smiled. My lover. It had been almost a year-and-a-half since I'd been able to say that. How long he would remain so was uncertain. He wasn't going to commit to anything beyond what I was willing to give him. And to be honest, I wasn't sure just how much I wanted to give. More than just my body, but I had yet to decide how much of my heart I was willing to yield.

On the surface, we had a fair bargain. We could both be slain by darkspawn tomorrow, or by bandits or even bounty hunters. I knew that was why I had decided to accept him into my bed. I was tired of sleeping alone and of facing the dark terrors that haunted my dreams without the comfort even a temporary lover could give.

Tam wandered back to my side after exploring a side lane between two rows of stalls. He settled on his haunches when I paused to examine a display of daggers on a small table.

Zevran peered over my shoulder and clucked his tongue. "You know, my Warden, there are many other things for sale here. This market is surprisingly well stocked. They even have Antivan leather goods."

I glanced up. He waved at a bright yellow pennant fluttering at the top of a tall pole.

"What kind of goods?" I said, and started in that direction. I badly needed a new belt. I couldn't walk very fast, but it felt good to move, to feel the muscles bunching and relaxing.

"Hmm, mostly bags, belts, that sort of thing. Though, I did spot a nice pair of leather pants."

I smiled. "Really?"

He laughed. "Too big for me…or you. They're obviously meant for someone of more… ample proportions."

"I think your proportions are just fine," I murmured.

He chuckled. "As do I, yours." He sighed, somewhat dramatically. "But, no boots, unfortunately. Just before I left Antiva, I was tempted to spend what little coin I had to spare on a fine pair I saw in a shop window." He smiled. "There is no finer leather in the world than Antivan. Soft and supple as a maiden's skin. And it wears like steel, if it's cured properly."

When we reached the booth, I saw that he wasn't exaggerating. A black fine-grained belt caught my eye, a string of fish, nose to tail, tooled into the leather. Zevran wandered over to a display of bags while I bargained with the merchant. I worked him down to thirty silver, still expensive for a belt, but not for one this well made.

Zevran glided up as I turned from the merchant, the belt tucked into the small net bag that hung from the worn and scratched one I was wearing.

"You bargain like an Antivan fish-wife, my Warden."

"Is that good or bad?"

He chuckled. "Very good. They have a reputation for squeezing coins so hard they cry more coins."

"Oh, there you are," Leliana said behind us. We turned and she hurried up, holding a packet of bright red ribbons in one hand. "Wynne asked me to find you and tell you to return by mid-day to rest your leg this afternoon."

"Oh, are those for me?" Zevran said, pointing at the ribbons.

She laughed. "No. Morrigan has such beautiful dark hair. I thought she might like these. They would look pretty, no?"

I wondered if Flemeth had ever tied ribbons in Morrigan's hair the way I'd seen Shianni's mother do when my cousin was little. But from the little Morrigan had said about her, Flemeth didn't seem the kind of mother who would do that.

"I think, my fair Orlesian flower, that she would more likely use them to strangle anyone who suggested it than wear them."

Leli sighed. "You're probably right, Zevran. But it's such a pity, no? A beautiful woman should dress like it."

"On that we can agree."

She gazed at the ribbons. "Well, I will keep them anyway. Perhaps, someday, she might wear them." Then she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, close to my lips, before strolling away, pulling her lute in front of her to play.

"Now, that was interesting," Zevran murmured. I touched my cheek. That was the first time Leli had ever kissed me like that. Before, she had always kissed me on the head, like you did a brother.

"Interesting?" I started picking my way through the maze of stalls and tables toward a low stone bench under an elm tree. My leg was starting to throb.

"She fancies you. Oh, and don't tell me you hadn't noticed, my Warden."

I stopped. "She does?" I flushed; that sounded so naïve.

He turned, and looked closely at me. "You really hadn't noticed, had you?"

I started walking again, clumsily skirting a pile of pungent horse droppings. When I reached the bench, I winced as I sat down, a muscle in my injured leg knotting then relaxing. Tam sat and leaned against my good leg. I reached out and scratched behind his ears while the wind rustled the leaves above us.

"No, I didn't. I've… never much fancied a woman that way."

"Truly?" He tilted his head. "You've never wondered or considered what it would be like to have sex with a woman?"

"I've wondered, but….." I shrugged. "There was never really much of an opportunity, and I've always been more interested in men."

"So no woman ever caught your interest? Not even a little?"

I smiled. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Zevran shrugged. "Not for me. There are male prostitutes in Antiva who only take male clients." He leaned closer and kept his voice low, for my ears alone. "You'd make a fortune in Antiva City."

I glanced at him and smiled, then it faded when I thought of Leliana.

"Zevran, if Leli 'fancies' me…"

He leaned back against the tree. "I wouldn't worry, my Warden. She's a very sensible woman under all those stories and remarks about shopping and pretty clothes, and Maker inspired dreams. And not one to pine after improbable things."

We sat there a while, watching the shoppers and the sellers. The drone of bartering drifted over us, along with the scent of baking. I wondered what stall Sten had gotten those cookies from. I smiled. Who would have ever thought he would have a fondness for them. When the breeze shifted, I heard Leli playing.

Tam pushed against my hand. "Ah, am I ignoring you?" I said.

He whuffed, and Zevran laughed.

Somewhere behind us, the Chantry bell started ringing, signaling midday, time to head back to the inn. I pushed to my feet and wavered, the muscles bunching in my leg. Zevran slipped a hand under my arm to keep me from falling. I steadied, then nodded at him and he released me.

I took a step and winced, the muscles cramping again, not so hard I couldn't move, but it hurt.

"My Warden?" Zevran murmured.

"I can make it." I took another step then another, stopping when I needed to let the muscles in my leg relax.

By the time we returned to the inn, my leg was a knotted mess, throbbing and aching from my hip to past my knee and up into my buttock. It was too early for people to start gathering, so the common room was empty of customers, only the inn's servants scrubbing tables and sweeping the floor.

I grimaced when we came to the stairs that led to the second floor.

"We couldn't get rooms on the first floor?" I muttered, as I leaned against Tam. Zevran eased around to my left side, and slipped the walking stick out of my hand. I gazed up the stairs and sighed.

"One step at a time, my Warden," Zevran said. I laid my arm around his shoulder and took back the cane. I held it in my right hand, using it to brace myself as I hopped up the stairs. It didn't feel quite as undignified as it must have looked. Halfway up, Wynne appeared on the landing.

"Didn't Leliana find you?"

"Yes, but I lost track. After being trapped in that room for a week…"

Wynne smiled. "Ten days, really. I understand why you're anxious to be out, but you still need to rest." She turned and opened to the door to my room. Tam trotted past us, then slipped in as soon as there was enough room for him to squeeze through.

I sighed as I sank onto the bed, Zevran standing next to me. Wynne turned from the table where a small collection of bottles had gathered. She held out a cup.

"This will help with the aches and the healing." The contents were dark green and only slightly bitter. Wynne's medicines were not nearly as bad tasting as others I remembered. My surprise must have showed because she smiled. "Yes, it's truly amazing what a spoonful of honey will do."

She took the cup back and put it on the table, then folded her arms and gazed at both of us. Tam settled next to me and laid his head on my good leg, looking up at her.

"Zevran, why don't you bring up some lunch? I don't want our Warden going up and down those stairs more than he has to."

I knew that tone, the one that said 'I have something to talk about with you in private.' Zevran must have recognized it too, because he didn't say anything, just inclined his head and glided out of the room.

Wynne glanced at me, then at the bed. "Things seem to be developing between you two."

I looked down at Tam and rubbed his head, my gut tightening. "We've already discussed this."

She sighed and settled next to me on the bed. "Yes, and I'm not going to repeat the lesson. But…" I looked up. "Is this wise?" she said gently. "He only seems to ever have one thing on his mind."

"It's not as if I don't," I murmured. She flushed, not nearly as bad as Alistair would have, but enough to notice. "It's been a long time and…" I needed, wanted someone there when the nightmares came, but I wouldn't tell her that.

"I understand. I was young once, believe it or not." She smiled then, in a way that gave me a glimpse of the girl she must have been. "I am more familiar than you might think with love's joys…and its sorrows. Sometimes, in the tower, we would seek one another out…though such things were not encouraged."

"It must have been hard…growing up like that, shut away from your family."

She gazed down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Sometimes it was. But the tower also protects us. A child who is also a mage is still a child. Some…never make it to the tower."

Her voice was very soft and very sad. I remembered what my father had said the day of my arranged wedding when we'd spoken of my mother, that there was so much injustice in the world. He'd been thinking only of her death, but the words were no less true for others.

The Chantry deemed it fitting that mages be confined and controlled. It was only another kind of slavery, though Wynne wouldn't see it that way. Morrigan did, and I think, in this, she had the clearer vision.

Wynne was a good woman, a skilled healer whose life could end in a heartbeat if some templar decided she had overstepped some bound. It wasn't right. But I kept that thought, and the anger that went with it, inside as I laid my hand over hers. She started, then glanced at me.

"I'll be careful, I promise." She nodded, then rose as the door started to open, an she was once again the healer. She watched Zevran set the covered tray on a table.

"Make sure you eat; bones and muscles don't heal on air, you know." Then she smiled and left the room.

Tam looked at me and then at the open door through which Wynne had just passed.

"You want to go with her?" I asked. He whuffed. I think I was getting better at reading the mabari. "All right, I think you're right about her needing company." He wagged his tail, then trotted after her.

Zevran settled next to me on the bed. "Hmmm, you look tense, my Warden." His hand slid up my back and he shook his head. "Stiff as a board. What you need is a good massage. Fortunately for you, I'm quite skilled in a variety of techniques."

I couldn't help smiling. "Are you sure it's only a massage you're offering?"

He leaned in. "Well, such things can lead into…other things, and usually do. But you really are too tense. I'm not surprised your leg knotted up so bad. Massage can be quite therapeutic. Increases the blood flow to the muscles. Loosens the joints. Don't your healers know this?"

"I've never heard of it used like that."

He muttered something in Antivan and shook his head.

"What was that you just said?" I asked as he got up and then closed the door. He turned back to me after drawing the bolt.

"Oh, something about backwoods barbarians…or some such. Now, if we're going to do this properly, you need to take off your clothes."

I laughed. "You just want to get me naked."

He grinned. "Well, if it helps, I'll get naked, too."

I laughed harder, and Blessed Creators, it felt so good to laugh. When I stopped, I noticed he had already pulled off his boots and shirt and was inspecting a small blue bottle.

I pulled off my shirt. Boots and socks were harder, but I managed. When I reached for my belt, I looked up to see him watching me, the bottle in his left hand.

"I'll start with your back. Your shoulders are so tight I could bounce sovereigns off them."

I undid the belt on my pants, and my leg cramped as I moved to pull them off. I hissed and clutched at the blanket. There was nothing to do but wait for it to ease.

"Here," Zevran murmured, kneeling before me. He looked up, a wicked smile on his face.

"Don't even think it," I said through clenched teeth. "When we get to that, I want to enjoy it."

"I was only going to help you with your pants, my dear Warden," he replied, chuckling.

The knot in my leg eased, and he helped me finish undressing. I scooted up the bed and then rolled over onto my stomach. Behind me I heard the soft clink from a belt buckle as Zevran's pants hit the floor. It was a few more seconds before I felt the bed give way, and he straddled my legs.

I turned my head so I could see him. I sighed; he was stripped to skin. And wasn't it a fine sight? The hummingbird glowed in a stray beam of sunlight. I wondered if that intricate vine that wrapped around his hips and thighs had been done after the bird, since it hovered just above a bend in the design. Intricate knots, some oval, others circular, made of feathers or twisting vines, were scattered across his chest and muscled stomach. From my explorations last night, I knew a curving design, like the branches of a slender tree, twined up his spine and then curled around his shoulder blades in a swirl of soft greens and blues.

Of course, he noticed me looking.

"Yes, things do look better in the light of day, do they not, my Warden?"

He leaned down and kissed my shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, then smiled. I slipped my hand closer, found his knee, and squeezed it. His smile deepened. I saw possibilities in his eyes I probably shouldn't want. But I did.

I closed my eyes and felt him straighten, then the warm touch of oil on my skin. It smelled like lavender and pine.

"That smells good," I murmured as he started working on my right shoulder, his fingers deeply probing my flesh.

"The vendor I bought this from in the market claimed the scents help one to relax. You'll have to tell me if it works." He grunted softly. "Maker, your muscles are tight. Tell me if I push too hard. This isn't supposed to hurt."

It didn't. It felt good, his fingers digging into my flesh. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the luxury of being touched like this. His hands moved across my neck and shoulders, finding and releasing knots of tension. It wasn't arousing, but there was a deep liquid sensuality to it, as muscles shivered then relaxed.

I must have drifted into a light doze, because it seemed that one moment he was working on my shoulders, then in the next he was almost at the base of my spine, his thumbs pushing into the muscles on either side of it. I sighed in contentment as tension melted out of my back.

"Feeling better, my Warden?" Zevran murmured.

"Hmmm, yes, this is better than sex," I mumbled.

He laughed. His hands slid around my lower torso and down to stroke my hips, then dipped between my thighs, and up between them for a much more intimate massage. My head jerked up and I gasped as desire washed through me in a sudden hot wave.

He leaned down and kissed my nape, his hands gently squeezing and caressing, probing. "You were saying?"

My hands curled in the sheets when he slipped a well-oiled finger inside me. Blessed Creators, my toes curled when his finger gently massaged a spot I hadn't known existed. I sucked in a breath.

"I meant better in some ways…not all ways. And don't you dare stop."

He laughed and shifted closer, lying on his side, his need pressed against my hip, his heat seeping into my skin everywhere his body touched mine. When I opened my eyes, I saw his…so close, burning with amber fire. His other arm was curled under his head.

"I told you I knew a…variety of techniques."

He leaned in and his lips moved over my face, tracing a path of kisses to my mouth. He had such soft lips, and such an agile tongue. The memory of where that tongue had been last night, of small bites followed by soft licks, stirred the fire inside me even more. He was a man who could be blatantly sexual and deeply sensual at the same time.

I was close to losing control. So I shifted to my side, moaning as his finger slipped out. But he was so warm as his arms slid around me, skin pressed against skin. The scent of lavender from the oil mixed with his, sweet thyme and musk, sent tendrils of desire down my spine and deep into my groin. It was good to feel this need again, to feel life pulling at my flesh after so much death.

"Ah, you feel so good," I murmured, and he nuzzled my cheek. He pushed gently at my shoulder, and I rolled to my back, taking him with me. Lying between my legs, he started moving, caressing my body with his while his lips moved down my neck. Fire shimmered over my skin.

"Wait," I said, my own breathing quickly getting ragged and deep.

"Hmmm, am I hurting you? Is your leg- "

I laid a finger on his lips. "I'm fine." I slipped my fingers into his hair, my thumbs resting along the serpentine lines on his face. He smiled down at me and held perfectly still. He was as disciplined in his lovemaking as he was in his swordplay. "It's just…" I wasn't sure how to say what was forming in my heart, or even if I should say it.

"You have a specific request? I'm familiar with a –"

My thumb brushed his lips and he fell silent. He was beautiful and strong, in his heart as well as his body. He'd had to be, to have survived what the Crows had done to him and come through it without being twisted into something like those who'd 'trained' him. He'd talked about it indirectly while Wynne was focused on healing my leg, several brief allusions to torture that had happened to 'someone else.' I think I understood then why everything seemed to come down to sex with him. It was the only way he'd ever been allowed to connect with someone else. And a way that didn't risk his heart. But was I willing to risk mine with him? Blessed Creators help me, I was. But if I did, would he take it?

I pulled his head down for a kiss, a long deep lingering one, while I sorted out how I was going to do that. He broke the kiss first then made a sound halfway between a moan and a sigh as he gazed down at me.

"You know, you're quite good at that."

"For only having two lovers, you mean?"

He laughed. "Well, I've always found quality far more important than quantity. Though, quantity is nothing to turn your nose up at."

I traced the lines on his left cheek with my fingertips, and a small shiver passed through him. "I'll have to take your word for that."

If what happened next between us was up to me, then I would have to lead him, but offering up my heart all at once would only close his own off to me. So, I would offer him a piece at a time, and see how much he was willing to accept of what I was willing to give.


	44. Chapter 44

_To those of you who've added this story to alerts/favorites, and all you lurkers in the shadows, many thanks. And especially to brownc0at, who keeps me on the straight and narrow grammar path, and rounds up those pesky commas. Comments/reviews are always welcome and add fuel to the creative fires. Enjoy!_

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**Zevran Arainai**

I drifted into a light sleep after we made love, my Warden curled around me, and the afternoon breeze drifting over both of us, cooling our bodies. I didn't sleep long, perhaps half-an-hour. When I stirred, I found him sitting beside me on the bed, reading, his leg pressed against my side. It was quite pleasant to wake beside him and not have to worry about the possibility of a dagger finding its way between my ribs.

He had this way of smiling that stirred the flesh, that implied secrets and sweet desires, and memories of shared passion. It was a smile that concealed and exposed his heart at the same time. I found it intriguing and maddening and delightful, all at once. He was smiling that way now.

I stretched and sat up. He pulled me in for a kiss, light and soft as flower petals brushing the skin. I glanced down at the book. It was in Fereldan, of course, but there was an illustration of a plump salmon on the page. I settled closer and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"What are you reading?"

"A recipe book I borrowed from the inn's cook. Unfortunately, there's no recipes for Antivan fish chowder."

"You were thinking of making this?"

He laughed. "After the way you went on about it, I thought I might try it."

"Well, you are a better cook than our dear ex-templar."

"That's not saying much," he murmured, then laughed again. "Oh, that was unkind. As Alistair would say, I'm a bad man."

"No, you are a very good man." Maker, did I just say that? He looked as startled by it as I felt. I kissed him, tasting the inside of his lips. "Very good…at many things."

Ah, the look he gave me, but he only smiled and turned back to the book. "Fortunately for the rest of you, that includes cooking."

I leaned back against the pillows, and he caressed my leg with his foot. "I appreciate the thought of fish chowder," I said. "But it might be hard to find the right spices. One or two are rare, even in Antiva."

He flipped through several pages, images of roasting geese and chickens flickering past my eyes. "Then I'll have to improvise."

"Ah, a Fereldan fish chowder. It would certainly be a welcome change from what the cooks in this country usually do with fish. There are more ways to prepare it than just frying, you know."

He looked up, amused. "Yes, but don't tell me you prefer boiled fish."

I made a face. "Oh, Maker, that sounds so…tasty."

He laughed and kissed me. "Hmmm, speaking of tasty…"

I slipped my arms around him and tugged. "Again? What will the others think when we're late for dinner?"

He dropped the book on the floor and buried his face in the curve of my shoulder, his arms sliding around me. I couldn't make out what he said, but it didn't matter.

* * *

Five days after the splints came off, he was able to walk without the cane, though he did have a slight limp. Even that would be gone in a few more days, and we would be on our way to Denerim. I wasn't easy with that thought, despite my Warden's fighting prowess and that of his companions. The Crows surely knew he was still alive by now and they would probably assume that since he was, I wasn't. Still, I just couldn't stroll openly into the city. If I were Fereldan, it would be easy to blend in, but as soon as I opened my mouth I would be marked as Antivan. With my coloring, I probably would be even if I could refrain from speaking. Denerim wasn't exactly a crossroads on the merchant routes of Thedas. Foreigners of any kind still drew attention. And the Crows always had eyes and ears in the marketplace and taverns.

Such thoughts occupied me as was sat enjoying a pitcher of ale after dinner in the inn's common room. Except for Morrigan, everyone in our little group was there. Leliana was playing, so, of course, the room was full. I'm sure the innkeeper was going to miss her when we left in a few days.

I glanced at my Warden, leaning back in his chair beside me, a mug cradled in his hands. He'd been planning something. I could see it every time he glanced at me. That, and the fact that he'd risen and left at sunrise every day for the last three, kissing me and telling me to go back to sleep. He'd said something about meeting with Leliana to buy a horse to replace the one killed by the darkspawn. Which of course, he'd done. A pretty little chestnut mare with an even temper and a deep chest. But he'd been doing something else, as well.

Curiosity tugged me in several directions, but I'd learned the hard way to rein it in. I turned back to my own mug and watched the others watching Leliana. Alistair leaned on the table, his chin propped on his hand, gazing raptly at our lovely bard, his hand curled around his fourth cup. Or was it the fifth?

Wynne sat beside him with a glass of red wine, Tam settled at her feet. She took small sips, clearly savoring each one. It must be a good vintage.

Sten, opposite Alistair, nibbled on a cookie.

"You know, my large and fearsome friend, you're going to get fat if you keep eating those."

"I am not your friend, elf." He glanced at me then brushed some crumbs off his shirt. "And I indulge only in towns." Then he turned back to watching Leli and ignored me. In fact, he spent most of his time ignoring me. Which, to be honest, I didn't really mind. I'd seen Qunari in Antiva. They were a people you didn't want to get on the wrong side of.

Leli finished her song and the room applauded, several customers coming up to drop silver coins into her lute case. And was that actually a sovereign? I sighed and went back to nursing my ale. I hadn't picked a pocket or cut a purse in months. Those skills were going to get rusty if that went on much longer. Still, one advantage of my service to my Warden, besides keeping my life, was eating on a regular basis.

Alistair sighed and leaned back in his chair, sucking the froth off the top of his ale, a habit I've always found mildly annoying.

"You realize that makes you gassy, yes?"

"I like froth," he said, and did it again. Darrian glanced between us, raising a brow at my smirk. Ah, Maker, so many lurid thoughts followed the ex-templar's words. He gave me so many good openings so many times, and so tempting to use, if nothing else, just to see how red his face and ears could get. But I wanted to stay on my Warden's good side, so I let it pass. Not without a twinge of regret. Sometimes, life just wasn't fair. As if I shouldn't be used to this by now? I sighed and sampled my ale.

We listened to another song, something sad and sweet that made Alistair all misty eyed and even Wynne looked sad. When Leliana finished, she rose and graced the patrons with a bow then headed for our table. My Warden rose and smiled at the bard, setting a mug still half full on the table and motioned to his seat.

"Are you turning in for the night, dear?" Wynne asked. I knew a hint when I heard one.

"I was thinking of it. It's been a long day."

"But it's early yet," Alistair said. "And with all those long naps in the afternoon I wouldn't think you'd be… sleepy…" He looked at me, and his voice trailed off, then he flushed bright pink. I bit my tongue. He mumbled something into his ale, and Leli patted his hand, which made him blush even more.

Sten pretended not to notice. My Warden just inclined his head to everyone, then headed towards the stairs, Tam following him like a second shadow.

"Aren't you sleepy, too, Zevran?" Leli said, and glanced at the stairs.

"Me? Not really. All those long…naps… in the afternoon. I find them quite invigorating, actually."

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered, then took a very long pull on his mug. From the corner of my eye I saw Wynne watching me, her face carefully set to hide what was going on in that very perceptive mind of hers. But she said nothing, not even when I rose and wished everyone a good night. Leliana smiled and blew me a kiss while Alistair buried his face in his mug. Sten just kept ignoring me.

My Warden was gazing out the window when I entered the room. He turned when he heard me come in, then settled on the foot of the bed. When I turned back after drawing the bolt, I saw him holding an oblong package wrapped in a bright green piece of cloth and tied with green ribbon.

Tam, settled at his feet looked at me, then at the package.

"What's that?" I asked. My Warden only smiled and held it out to me. It was…for me? I looked at him, then back at it before taking it from his hands. My heart skipped when my fingers closed around it. Even through the thick cloth I could feel a smoothness. Holding it closer, I caught a faint familiar fragrance. Nothing in the world smells like Antivan leather.

I sank onto the bed, staring at what I held in my hands. Tam nudged me in the side of my knee.

"I think he wants you to open it," my Warden murmured.

The ribbon was loosely tied, made to come undone with a single tug. The cloth fell away, and my hands closed over a fine pair of Antivan leather boots. Chestnut brown, sleek and soft. I pressed them to my nose and smelled home. The stink of fish guts on the docks and the tanneries across the harbor. The smell of the sea after a storm and the cheap perfume the street whores wore. The peppery aroma of fish chowder, and the scent of the sweet flowers that bloomed in spring when they covered the hills surrounding the city.

"This…this really is Antivan leather." I laughed. "Ah, all I need now is a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, and it really will feel like home." Ah, perhaps I shouldn't have said that about prostitutes, but when I looked at him he was smiling.

"You could try them on."

I did, and they were a perfect fit. My Warden smiled. "In case you're wondering, I took the measurements from the pair you've dropped under my bed for the last week and a half."

I gazed down at my feet. I couldn't remember anyone giving me a gift...just because they wanted to. My throat closed. _Mierda,_ why did it keep doing that? I swallowed and found my voice.

"Perhaps I should drop my pants under your bed as well, yes? Or my belt or-"

His fingers covered my lips. "As I recall, you have…along with socks, shirts, small clothes…" He waved a hand and laughed.

Tam nosed one of my old boots, giving it a long sniff, then glancing at me and making an odd rumbling sound.

"I'm sorry, my four-legged friend, I don't speak Mabari."

He cocked his head, then opened his jaws and gently closed them around the toe of the boot.

"Ah, I think I understand now. And no, you can't use them for a chew toy. They still have plenty of wear left in them."

He whined a little, then released the boot and settled his head on the floor, eyeing it the whole time.

My Warden rose, eased over to the chest pushed under the window, and opened the lid. He pulled out a large leather bag, a new one I recognized from the Antivan stall in the market.

"I need your help with something," he said, placing it beside me on the bed.

I looked at the bag curiously. "What is that?"

He unbuckled the flap and pulled the bag open. Inside, packages of various sizes wrapped in brightly colored cloth with matching ribbons nestled together.

"One thing about being laid up with a broken leg, I've had plenty of time for thinking."

"Oh, you had time between all the love-making…and the thinking about love-making?"

He smiled. "Hard to believe, but yes." He settled back next to me on the bed. "It's been only three months, maybe a little longer, since I've left the Alienage in Denerim. But it feels like…years. These people that travel with me…they've all given up or lost a great deal." He gazed down at the packages. "I know they all have their own reasons for being here." When he looked up, I saw that fire and steel in his eyes. "I also know that not all those reasons may be what others consider noble. And it's Morrigan I'm thinking of when I say that. But they're here… and they risk their lives for something outside themselves, and they watch each other's backs while they watch mine and…" He faltered and drew a deeper breath. "That deserves some kind of recognition."

I glanced down at the brightly wrapped parcels. "So you bought gifts for them." And for me.

He nodded. "It's going to take at least a few more weeks before I regain the agility I had before my leg was broken. So, I can't slip around unseen to deliver these. You, on the other hand…"

I chuckled. "Am quite agile. I understand, my Warden. But, if I may ask, why sneak around to deliver them?"

"Hmm, blame it on my mother. Whenever she bought me a gift…for Satinalia or Solstice. She would hide it somewhere, and I'd have to find it. Part of her training. But I enjoyed hunting for them." He touched a small square package wrapped in bright blue cloth. "I'd only ask that you put these in places where they can easily run across them." His smile returned. "Now, let me tell you who gets which one."

It didn't take long to drop them off, then return to my Warden who was lounging against the pillows on the bed when I returned. He was still dressed; Tam was stretched out beside him, his head on Darrian's lap. Maker, I forgot sometimes how big the Mabari was. I hoped he wasn't planning on staying there all night.

"All delivered," I said, as I dropped the empty bag on the table. Tam opened an eye to look at me then slipped off the bed. My Warden glanced up

"Thank you, Zevran,"

"Oh….you're welcome." I stretched out beside him on the bed. Tam settled on the floor at the foot, out of sight. My Warden tilted his head back, and gazed at something on the ceiling.

"We leave tomorrow." His hand sought mine. "I'm going to miss sleeping in a bed." I sighed a bit theatrically, and he smiled. "But I'm sure we'll manage."

So, he planned on continuing the physical relationship we'd started once we were back on the road. That was good to know. I rather enjoyed him, and it seemed he enjoyed me. It would certainly make the journey to Denerim and wherever else we were headed much more pleasant. And the others seemed to accept it, even our lovely Wynne. Though perhaps, in her case, accept wasn't quite the right word. Nor was tolerate. It was as though she were…waiting for something. Ah, well, it didn't matter. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Here and now, we were in a very comfortable bed with the night lying before us like a ripe fruit, ready to be savored and devoured.


	45. Chapter 45

_After being laid up for a few weeks with a broken leg, our Warden and his companions are finally back on the road to Denerim. But first a few presents need to be opened; and the Warden and Zevran discover they have something else in common._

_To all those who've reviewed and put this tale on alerts/favorites, my heartfelt thanks. Your support means a lot. Feel free to drop a line anytime.

* * *

  
_

**Darrian Tabris**

Over three weeks we'd been in that town, and I think all of us were eager to leave. I think the townsfolk were glad to see us go, as well. Leli had told me of rumors that some folk believed that while the Wardens fought the darkspawn, we somehow attracted them to us. There'd also been rumors of darkspawn prowling the surrounding woods, but neither Alistair nor I had sensed anything. He'd taken Sten, Leli and Tam out to scout just in case, but found nothing. So we left when we'd planned, well supplied, just after dawn.

I wondered where Zevran had hidden the gifts. Since no one seemed to have found theirs yet.

I rode in the wagon, sitting next to Wynne, who somewhere in her life had learned to handle a team of cart horses. I would have preferred riding the chestnut mare, but Wynne had insisted I put off riding for a few more days. Morrigan was settled in the back of the cart, her staff ready in her hands, Tam lying by her feet. Sten rode point while Leli trailed behind us. Zevran rode beside the cart where I sat. Alistair rode on Wynne's side keeping an eye on him.

"I've been flanked," I murmured to Wynne. She smiled.

I glanced at Zevran who was watching the road ahead of us, his bow strung and ready in his hand. Judging from the half a smile I could see, he was well aware of Alistair's scrutiny. His amber eyes flicked in the ex-templar's direction, then back to the road that ran straight through flat open country. The woods had thinned out to rolling farmland a few hours away from the town.

"What's that saying you Fereldans use? Ah, yes… spit it out, my dear Warden, whatever is on your mind."

Alistair waved a hand at the bow. "You'd be lucky to get off one shot before they were on you."

He chuckled. "Assuming I planned on staying in one place, that's probably true. But I don't."

"Even if you can stay ahead of them, you have to stop to aim. That makes you an easy target."

Zevran smirked. "Not if I keep moving."

Now that did surprise me, that Zevran knew how to shoot from the back of a moving horse. It wasn't a tactic that I'd ever heard of Fereldans employing, and it certainly didn't seem like one an assassin would use.

"A moving horse would throw your aim off," Alistair said. "Besides, I thought your type was more into sneaking around and sliding a poisoned dagger between somebody's ribs."

"What? You think I don't have any hobbies? The challenge intrigued me, so I learned."

"Actually, it can be done, Alistair," I said as I stretched out some stiffness in my legs. They both looked at me in surprise. "You have to time the release with the cadence of the horse's gait. For a moment, all four hooves are off the ground when they're galloping. That's when you release the bow."

"But if you're moving and the target's moving, how do you ever hit it?"

"Practice, my dear Warden." Zevran glanced at me and smirked. "Lots…and lots…of practice."

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered, shaking his head, a faint flush on his cheeks. "All right," he said, turning in his saddle to me. "I'll take your word for it, but how do you know about that? I've never heard of a tactic like that being used anywhere in Ferelden."

"I'm sure what you've never heard would fill a library or two," Morrigan said.

"Oh, and do you know everything about magic, Miss I've Lived in the Wilds all my Life?"

It wasn't the words, so much as the tone that surprised me, and a forcefulness I hadn't heard in his retorts to her before. Even Morrigan blinked. And I would have sworn I saw something like a smirk on Wynne's face, though it disappeared too quickly for me to be certain. I wondered if she had talked to Alistair. I certainly wouldn't put it past her. I turned back to him to answer his question.

"My mother told me about it. It's a plains tactic, where a horse has room to run. Trees sort of hamper that."

Alistair frowned, and it wasn't hard to understand why. How would an elf born in the alienage know about open plains strategy? He looked at me curiously, but he didn't ask. Zevran did, though, that night as we settled in front of my tent after a short but strenuous, at least for me, workout after dinner.

"I am curious, my Warden, how your mother knew about mounted archery."

I looked up from stretching out my leg, the small campfire flickering several feet beyond us. Tam was stretched out next to Zevran. Habit made me check to see if anyone else was in earshot. I knew Zevran was too perceptive to miss that. I kept my voice low.

"Do you know what a Keeper is, Zevran?"

He stared at me a long moment. "Your mother," he finally said, very softly.

I shook my head. "She was second to one. She came from a very small clan in the Silent Plains that was wiped out by a group of mages from the Imperium who were hunting for new slaves. She survived because they thought she was dead." I gazed into the fire a moment. "A merchant caravan found her and nursed her back to health, but by the time she was recovered enough to leave them, they were in Denerim. Since her clan was gone, she decided there was nothing for her back home and stayed there. She married my father eight months later."

Zevran glanced at Alistair who was rummaging through his pack on the other side of the fire. "Your fellow warden doesn't know this story either, does he? Nor our lovely Wynne."

"Alistair always said he wouldn't have made a good templar." I smiled. "He told me he probably would have ended up killing the Revered Mother in his chantry, then run screaming through the street in his small clothes. But he's still chantry bred…and Wynne…" I glanced at her sipping her tea while she watched Leli tuning her lute. "For all her tolerance, I think she believes that the Circle does more good than harm for mages. My mother's gift was weak, and only showed in healing, but it still would have been enough to see her confined to a tower. That would have killed her surer than any blade." I went back to stretching my leg.

"Weak, but skilled, if she could hide from the templars for so long," Zevran said, glancing at the others.

"My father loved her very much. I don't think he ever quite got over her death at the hands of a human guard."

Zevran's face went very dark for a moment, then it lightened and he smiled at me. "Well, it seems we have something else in common besides looking good in tight leather."

I smiled. "What is that?"

Was it me, or did he hesitate just the barest second before answering, as though he'd thought about changing his mind on what he was going to say.

"My mother was also Dalish."

I stopped my stretching and stared at him. "I thought you said your mother was a…prostitute?"

"She was. One of the whores…her name was Amia, told me about her. She was very fond of my mother. Not as a lover…a friend. My mother…" He stared into the fire. "The story I heard was that she fell in love with a woodcutter and followed him back to the city. He died of some vile sickness, and she was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book." He looked back at me and his voice was barely above a whisper. "She died giving birth to me. My first victim…as it were."

Tam whined very softly and laid his head on Zevran's leg, offering the assassin sympathy that I don't think he would have welcomed from me.

"I…that must have been hard."

He shrugged. "It could have been worse. I wasn't born on the street and left to die in some alley." The ghost of a smile returned. "Except for the occasional beating, it was a happy existence."

Until the Crows bought him, but I left that thought unspoken.

"What the?" I heard Alistair exclaim across the fire. When I glanced over, he was holding the small box I'd wrapped in bright red cloth.

Zevran leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "In case you're wondering, my Warden, I put them all in one of their travel packs. Sooner or later, they have to go through them, yes?"

"What is this?" Alistair asked, holding up the box.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" I said.

Alistair waved the package, the ends of the ribbon fluttering. "This is your doing?"

I smiled and went back to stretching. "Maybe."

Zevran chuckled.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair stared at the small pendant lying in the box. He pulled it out by the chain, and the cameo of Andraste gleamed in the firelight. His mother's pendant he'd torn from his neck and shattered against the wall the day he'd been sent to the Chantry.

"I…thought this was gone." He stared across the fire at me. "Where did you find my mother's pendant?"

"In a desk, in Arl Eamon's library. I was looking for a pen." I nodded at the pendant. "It seems he found the pieces and tried to glue it back together. I took it to a jeweler for repair when we were in that town and I was able to move around again."

His fingers brushed the surface. "You can hardly see where it's joined," he murmured then looked back at me, his eyes gleaming in the fire light. "You remembered. I was so drunk that night at Redcliffe, I barely remember telling you."

"You're my friend, Alistair. Of course, I remembered."

He slipped it around his neck and tucked it inside his shirt, close to his heart. For a moment, he sat there, his head bowed, then he rose and came over to settle beside me. He squeezed my shoulder. "Thank you, my friend."

A delighted squeal came from Leli's direction and she held up her gift, a brooch bearing Andraste's likeness. She looked at me, her smile reaching into her eyes. A few moments later she was kneeling in front of me and hugging me tight and close.

"Oh, _mon ami, _you are so kind," she said, then kissed me. She kissed me again, this time on the lips, much to Zevran's amusement, before returning to her spot near the fire.

"Warden, this is…unexpected," Sten said, holding up the miniature painting of a rose in a box frame I had found for him. "But you have honored me. Thank you." He bowed his head then settled on the log, studying it.

"A painting?" Alistair murmured to me. "He likes cookies…and paintings."

"You must have missed that talk," I said, leaning towards Alistair so I could keep my voice low. "He told me once that painting takes as much discipline as fighting. That applying a brush is a lot like wielding a sword."

"Not sure I see the similarity," Alistair said.

I shrugged. "Honestly? Neither do I, but it means something to him."

"Well," Wynne said, staring at the book in her hands then at me. "Chantry history?"

"I'm told it's more accurate than most," I said.

"Then I'm sure it's stirred some controversy. Thank you, Warden." She inclined her head then opened it.

When the initial excitement died down and everyone had returned to their routine, I realized Morrigan was still absent. She always set up her tent apart from the rest and some nights she was gone a long time, probably roaming through the forest as an owl or a wolf, as she often did.

I gazed into the darkness and wondered what she did when she roamed the night woods. We had talked a little about her shape shifting on the journey from Lothering to the Circle tower, and it was one of the few times I'd seen her relax her guard and her eyes gleam with more than calculation. I'd meant it when I told her that other magical traditions should be preserved. I'd been thinking of my mother's lore, carefully guarded against _shem_ ideas of what was right and wrong about magic, but I think Morrigan had believed me.

Alistair gazed into the fire, his hand closed over his mother's pendant, while Leliana played. Wynne read the book on Chantry history, and Sten still studied the miniature painting of a rose, his thumb stroking the side of the box-like frame. The top could be closed over, forming a small box, to protect it.

Leli smiled and played something light and sweet. I leaned back against a boulder, my hand folded around Zevran's and listened to the music as it drifted into the night.


	46. Chapter 46

_Once again, a big thanks to all you lurkers in the shadows, and those who've added this to alerts/favorites and reviewed. Your support means a lot to this writer._

_Gifts have been give and our band is just a few days from Denerim. Of course, just strolling into the city is probably not a good idea, what with bounty hunters, and the Crows on the lookout for Zevran. Some possibilities are discussed, though, Alistair's not too keen on Zevran's suggestions._

_Enjoy!  
_

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**Zevran Arainai**

We were four days from Denerim when my nightmares of Rinna returned, as vivid as the first time I'd had them. They drove me awake in the dark of night, well after the moon was down. I sat, my head bowed and my hands clenched in my hair, still seeing the blood spurting from her slit throat, soaking the front of her blouse, the light dying in her eyes so quickly. Some of her blood had splashed onto my boots. _Mierda,_ I had forgotten that. Had wanted to forget it.

The dreams had returned when we were at Arl Eamon's, fragments only, but enough to send me seeking another place to sleep, away from the Wardens. Why now? Why did they return so vividly? Was it because we were drawing so close to Denerim, where the Crows waited?

I started at Darrian's hand on my back. He drew close and slipped his arm around my shoulders. When he spoke, I felt his warm breath on my cheek.

"Zevran? What's wrong?" From his tones, he sounded worried …for me.

"Nothing, just a bad dream. You're not the only one allowed to have them, my Warden."

I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder.

"What kind of dream?"

I closed my eyes. "Just a bad one…from the past." I felt a fool for saying that. What was I doing, leaving myself open like that? But he didn't press, only slipped his other arm around me and pulled me down, so that my head was lying on his chest, over his heart. I heard it beating with the rhythm of desire, a sound I knew well from the past weeks. But he held still, not moving into the dance of passion.

My hand slid down his chest, skimmed the hollow of his hip, and then I let it rest on the top of his thigh. I wanted to start the dance, to lose myself and forget the nightmare in his heat and his sweet kisses. But lying together like this, it felt good in a way I hadn't known for a long time. Perhaps had never known, now that I think of it. I shifted, sliding my hand back up his side then around the curve of his shoulder.

He was so warm, so close and…just there. Asking nothing. Demanding nothing. I wasn't used to that, to just being with someone. Always before, there had been thinking, planning, reading the mark and finding the most effective means of seduction or distraction, or some mix of both.

I closed my eyes and listened to his heart beat, let it carry me away from dreams and into the morning.

We left the tent at dawn and headed to the stream to wash up and get water for breakfast.

"You know how to cook?" my Warden asked, filling the tea kettle.

I chuckled while I washed up, thinking of all the times I had made my own meals. "Of course."

He glanced up, then rose with the filled kettle. "Good, because it's your turn to make breakfast this morning." He smiled and headed back to camp.

Well, I hadn't been expecting that. I dried off my face and chest, then pulled on my shirt. When I returned, the kettle was already slung over the fire, and the cooking pans warming on the grate. I sorted through our supplies. There were biscuits left over from last night. Eggs, butter, and onions from a farmer. And cheese, of course. Fereldan cooking was bland, but they did have good cheese. A pity the wines were, for the most part, little better than vinegar. Except for this sweet red one that came from somewhere near Highever.

Omelets, I decided, with the last of the bacon mixed in. While I chopped onions and diced bacon, Darrian measured tea into the kettle. I couldn't say it felt like home, but it was comfortable sharing the cooking with my Warden as we watched the sun come up.

"Maker, that smells good," Alistair said, emerging from his tent and yawning. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, then his gaze settled on me crouched by the fire, a spatula in my right hand. He stared at me then swallowed.

"You're…making breakfast?" His voice actually squeaked on the last word.

I waved the spatula in his direction. "What? You don't like omelets? There's not much else, unless you want to share a ration of grain with the horses."

"I…no…I like omelets. I just didn't think you knew how to cook."

"I'm a man of many talents, I told you." I eased the omelet out of the frying pan and into the warming pan with the others. "Besides, if I wanted to poison you, there were plenty of opportunities which I obviously have not taken advantage of."

He scowled but it didn't last more than a second. Morrigan slipped up a few moments later, the silver wolf pendant my Warden had given her gleaming in the sunrise. I wondered what his other gift to her had been. The shape and weight of it had felt like a book, but she didn't seem the scholarly type.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked my Warden, but with more amusement than suspicion.

Darrian glanced at me then at her. "I'm sure, unless you want Alistair to make breakfast."

She made a face.

"Hey, I'm standing right here," Alistair said, but he was laughing.

"It's past time the elf took his turn at cooking duty," Sten said. Well, if that wasn't a vote of confidence, I'm not sure what was. Enough that the others took their share of breakfast without a second thought.

After we finished eating, Darrian gathered up the pans, bowls and cups, and carried them to the stream to wash. I grabbed a towel and joined him. We needed to talk about Denerim, and I wished to discuss my concerns privately.

I waited till he had filled the small bucket and had started washing the bowls.

"The Crow house in Denerim has probably already received word that you and your fellow Warden still live."

He paused, holding a soapy bowl in one hand and a wash cloth in the other. "Won't they have assumed you're dead?"

"It is a reasonable assumption, my Warden. And most house Masters would probably do just that. But the one who rules the house in Denerim is a very subtle and very clever man. He is…not typical."

"In what way?" Darrian asked, handing me a bowl to rinse off in the stream.

It wasn't any lingering loyalty that made me hesitate. Master Stefan was…unusual, but it was difficult to say just how. I rinsed and dried the bowl while I talked.

"Understand, I am not being evasive, truly. But I didn't live in the house in Denerim very long, only a few days. And after I found a room in an inn, I tried to avoid his notice as much as possible. Having a Master focused on one is usually not very healthy. While he's not the usual sort of Master one finds in charge of a house, it's safe to assume that he will send others after me if he learns I'm alive"

He handed me another bowl. "He wouldn't come after you himself?"

"And waste a training opportunity for an apprentice? Hardly."

He paused in his washing and studied me a moment, his face quite serious. "You could shave your head."

"What? Are you joking?" I stared at him "Maker, you're not."

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss me. "I'm sure we can come up with something else." He fingered a strand of my hair. "Maybe change the color. Wear it differently. Different clothes. How well do the other people in the Crow house know you?"

"I didn't see them very much. That doesn't mean they weren't watching me. I just assumed they were and behaved accordingly."

"Is there just the one house in Denerim?"

I nodded.

He frowned as he started scrubbing the cups. "What's to keep others in that house from coming after me and Alistair since you…didn't kill us?"

I chuckled. "Remember all those rules I mentioned?" He nodded. "I bid on the original contract which means only I – and I have no intention of doing this, I assure you – can fulfill it. The contract will have to be re-bid, and that means the Crows will lose more money to a second assassin since they can't charge the client again for the same hit."

He arched a brow at me. "I thought you said you weren't paid anything."

"Hmmm, not the full fee. I did receive money against my bid for…expenses. There was little money left after those were paid."

His eyes clouded over. "The others who were with you."

"My Warden, they knew the risks. Death is something every Crow comes to terms with early in their career."

He looked away, his hands tightening on the bucket. "I don't doubt that, Zevran. But..." He looked back at me. "It seems a waste." He said it without judgment, a simple statement of fact. One I agreed with, but the past was the past. What was the point in regretting what you couldn't change?

"Now, as far as future assassination attempts are concerned, re-bidding the contract requires the approval of the Guild Master. Between that and the travel time between Denerim and Antiva City, it will probably be several months before any more Crows come looking for you. Assuming they can find anyone to bid on it. Even in Antiva, the reputation of the Grey Wardens is formidable. And since you've also survived the first attempt, something which almost never happens…" I shrugged.

"We're safe for the moment."

I nodded. "Of course, your survival might also be seen as a challenge by some ambitious apprentice looking to make a name."

He sighed. "So, no guarantees. I understand. And there's still the matter of bounty hunters. So either way, Alistair and I have to come up with some kind of disguise."

Ah, that was too tempting to resist. "I might have some suggestions for that."

* * *

Alistair glared at me. "I am not shaving my head."

"Maybe we could disguise you as a dancing girl, then. I understand that even here in Ferelden there are men who appreciate a woman with a more …hmmm….athletic physique."

Alistair shook his head. "Maker's breath."

Leliana laughed. "I think you'd make a very pretty dancing girl."

Alistair jabbed a finger at my Warden. "Stop smiling like that. You're getting as bad as he is. And I noticed he didn't suggest you shave your head."

"Don't take this wrong, Alistair. But all I have to do is lose the armor and the visible weapons, dress in plain clothes and no human will notice me if I'm trailing behind you and acting like a servant."

He grimaced and sank down onto the end of the wagon. Sten frowned.

"I do not understand this need for a disguise. A warrior should meet his enemies in the open."

"Yes, and why not paint a target on your back showing them the best place to stick a dagger, while you're at it?" Sten's hand moved towards his sword, and I decided it was wiser not to say anything more on the matter.

"I could turn you both into mice and carry you into Denerim in a cage," Morrigan suggested.

"With you as the cat, my lovely witch?"

It was her turn to glare at me. "I am not your lovely anything, elf."

Darrian glanced at Wynne, who had just observed us all during the exchange. She smoothed the front of her robe over her lap, and I knew she had been thinking.

"Sometimes the best place to hide something is in plain view." She glanced at Darrian and me, then smiled at Alistair. "You're not very good at skulking, child. So some kind of disguise is needed."

My Warden poked at the remains of the breakfast fire with a long stick. "What did you have in mind, Wynne?"

"Oh, 'losing the armor' is a good place to start. I'd also suggest not shaving."

Alistair frowned. "That doesn't seem like much of a disguise."

"Trust me, my dear ex-templar, to deceive most people it doesn't take much. The idea is not to draw attention to your self. Have you spent a lot of time in Denerim?"

"No. Why?"

I leaned against the wagon. "If your face isn't well known, even a few days worth of beard might be enough to hide it."

He sighed. "I just feel so…scruffy when I don't shave. Plus, I look terrible with a beard."

I chuckled. "All the more reason then, yes?"

"As long as I don't have to be a bearded dancing girl."

Everyone laughed, and even Sten smiled.


	47. Chapter 47

_Many, many thanks to those who've added this to alerts/favorites and taken the time to review (especially during the busy holiday season!). Your support and pm's are much appreciated. And thanks, of course, to brownc0at, for the beta thing. I'll get those commas under control yet, :)._

_As our heroes draw closer to Denerim, a certain Crow master discovers during his dreams in the Fade that some information about his past that he'd thought buried has come to light. (Just to refresh, Misa is the woman who trained Stefan in his seer's gift and then left.)  
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**Master Stefan**

He'd never seen a river like this in all his travels through the Fade, black and boiling, eating away the stone that lined its banks. On either side of it, in this dream forest, desiccated and twisted trees stretched to the horizon. No bird sang. No breeze sifted through the dead ashes piled around the trunks or stirred the withered ends of leafless branches. A wan sun burned in the green sky.

Stefan rose from his crouch by the riverside and considered his position. The soul entered the Fade when someone dreamed, and only mages retained awareness while they were in it. But though he had no mage talent, Misa had taught him how to move through this place in his dreams as he moved through the waking world. He could, because his sight sometimes pierced the veil of time she'd told him. She'd also taught him how to hide in the Fade and shift his form to a mouse and creep through the shadows. He'd asked her why she hadn't taught him other shapes. Watching from the shadows suited him, she'd said. Besides, without any mage talent, he was easy prey for the demons that roamed here. Of course, no mage gift also meant he was less likely to attract attention.

The wind stirred, and Stefan became a mouse then darted into the charred trunk of a hollow log. A rage demon boiled by him, skimming over the surface of that black river to the other side. Stefan watched till it faded from view then crept out, but stayed in mouse form.

He climbed up the side of the log then scanned the landscape, his whiskers twitching. He could walk forever and never come to the end of this black forest. But there were ways around that, holes that held portals between different places. While the scene around him might be different every time he entered the Fade, those tiny portals never changed their position.

He scampered down to the end of the log and shifted back to human form. One of those portals lay behind him, sunk beneath the black river. But by that distant forked tree that looked as if it had been split by lightning, there should be another close by.

The crunch of ashes beneath his boots as he walked sounded loud. It would surely draw attention, but nothing stirred around him. When he arrived, he crouched down at the base of the split tree and carefully brushed aside the debris. The portal was there, just to the left of a gnarled root, and as far as he could see into it - which wasn't very far - it looked clear.

He shifted form and slipped inside. While the portals locations never changed, the length of the small tunnels connecting them did. This time the exit lay only a few feet from the entrance. He emerged underneath an over-hanging rock, and a lush plain stretched before him. The sun was brighter here, the sky still green, but the pale hue of spring leaves.

He stretched up and peered over the waving tips of grass. The air was sweet, but it was still silent. In the hazy distance, he saw the wavering outline of a city.

A voice sounded above him, rich and resonant, but he couldn't say if it was male or female. "Well, well, what is this? A mouse looking for crumbs?"

Stefan darted back inside and peered up. He saw only the sky and the grass.

"Come out, little mouse, and play. No harm. No harm, this fine day." The voice chuckled. "Oh, dear, a rhyme. And a rather bad one, quite unintentional, I assure you."

The air shimmered above him, and a human seeming form stepped out of the light. No, not human, elven looking, a woman with dusky skin and hair the color of starlight on water. She stepped back, her eyes shifting iridescent.

"I mean no harm, but I do wonder what a mouse is doing here." The voice was lighter, more feminine. She took another step back, then another, and settled on the grass, resting her hands on her knees.

Stefan debated. She didn't seem to be a demon, but they weren't always obvious. Still, he was only a breath away from waking, and once back in the waking world, she couldn't follow him, since he had no mage abilities.

He slipped forward and shifted, drawing his daggers as he took human shape.

She cocked her head. "A clever man, and a brave one, to come within sight of the Black City."

He glanced at the wavering outline on the horizon then back at her. "Not intentionally. Did you shift the location of the portal?"

She waved a hand at the apparition of the city behind her. "No, it is the city that moves. An Archdemon has risen. It calls to the darkspawn, and to anything that bears that taint."

"Do you?"

She laughed, like crystal chimes and breaking glass. "No, I bear no taint. I belong to the Fade."

"The Chantry says the Darkspawn came from the Fade. Mages, who assaulted the Golden City, turned it black and in their pride were cast back down to earth."

"The Chantry claims many things," she said with a shrug. "Some may even be true. Many may be false. Even they suspect that, at least, the ones who think do. Shall I tell you a secret?" She leaned forward. "Even those who think for themselves don't know which tale is true and which is false."

"Do you?"

"Assuming I did, I wouldn't tell you. Mortals need to discover the truth for themselves if it is to have any meaning for them."

Stefan frowned. While interesting, this conversation seemed pointless. She hadn't told him anything he didn't already know, and it seemed she wasn't a demon. But he wouldn't call her a benevolent spirit, either, though little was known of them since they seldom showed themselves.

He glanced back at the city. The light seemed to dim around it. It didn't look any closer, but he felt…something… a cold dark slick across his soul. He shivered, and his hands gripped his daggers more tightly.

Suddenly she was there, standing right in front of him, smelling like roses and sun warmed earth, and gazing into his eyes. Too startled at first to move, he held his ground when his surprise passed. She searched his face. He thought he saw…not pity…compassion?

"They don't know, do they… the black birds… what you really are. What blood flows through your veins."

He stepped back, wary and, truth be told, a little frightened. "She's long dead. Along with the one who fathered me."

"Oh, Master Stefan, secrets never die. They just find another place to live. Perhaps in an old mid-wife whose wits wander from age and babbles nonsense half the day, not knowing what secrets she tells the world." She touched his face, and her fingers were light and warm. "Or perhaps an old man, once servant to a noble lady who chose the wrong lover, and now sits in a cold room with an empty belly. Selling what he promised to keep hidden for a bowl of soup and wood for the fire."

He backed up, shivering, and her fingers slipped off his face. "Stop it."

"What you are, half-elf, has come to light. Not by me, I only see the shifting shadows of time here in the Fade. Sometimes, I can send dreams to those who know how to listen and can remember. Since you are here, I can speak directly."

He raised a dagger, his hand trembling just enough to notice. "Why are you telling me this?"

"To warn you, half-elf. The black birds do not like being deceived. You know that better than any. They want their bones to feast on since they've found you out. They will tear your flesh apart if you do not make a path out of their nest."

He shook his head. "Even if what you say is true, one doesn't walk away from the Crows." Then he looked close and hard at her. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because it is my nature, as it is the nature of demons to covet the world that mortals live in."

She was a spirit of compassion then. "If that is true, then why not tell me how I may escape. What good is such knowledge if I can do nothing to change my fate?"

She smiled. "Paper burns. Stone crumbles. Even a steel blade can shatter if you know where and how hard to strike. There is always a path, Master Stefan. But it may require others to show you the way."

He laughed, short and bitter. "No Crow helps another. And if they do, it's only for their own gain."

"Not every Crow is black as sin. Not all have hearts as shriveled as an over-dried fig. Look for the man who wears the serpent path of death upon his face." She started fading, her form melding into the light. "You have what you need. Now I think it best you leave. You have tarried here long enough."

He woke with a gasp, the cool night breeze drying the sweat on his skin. His hands curled in the light sheet tangled around his legs, and his heart raced.

"Maker's breath," he whispered, then sat up, staring into the darkness. She'd found him so easily, to warn him of a death he couldn't avoid. He rubbed his face, trying to banish the cold, hard knot in his gut. He'd expected death to come calling one day. He'd hoped for something quick, a knife between the ribs, or one of the subtler and kinder poisons. But to be handed over to Jepheth, who presided over the executions of those Masters the Crows thought had betrayed them…

Stefan couldn't and didn't even try to suppress the shudder. The spirit was right. His flesh would literally be torn from his bones. And Jepheth would make the dying last a long time. Cursing, he threw back the sheet and slid out of bed.

The floor boards around his bed had been loosened so they squeaked when anyone walked across them. The room was dark, without candle or even moonlight. But three steps to his right took him to a table where a lamp was always set.

Light flared, and he picked up the lamp and carried it over to the small mirror above a washbasin. The child of an elf and a human could easily pass as human since the signs of elven blood were subtle, if present at all.

Stefan stared at his reflection. Just under average height, but his height did nothing to hint at his half-blood, since height varied greatly. His ears were human shaped, and if he was more attractive than most men, with a lithe muscularity, well, not all human men were towering brutes who needed to shave morning and evening. But guild rules were quite clear about only full blooded humans being raised to the rank of a House Master.

He set down the lamp and leaned on the table, his head hanging down and his eyes closed. How much time did he have before death came? Days, weeks? There was no way to tell. And he doubted he would find the spirit on his own. She had been waiting for him and her final words had made it clear she wouldn't be speaking to him again.

Well, he had a warning, at least, and she had told him of a way out, sort of. Though why she couldn't speak plainly was a frustrating mystery. It didn't surprise him, though. Why should she speak plainly when his visions were often like that, clear only in hindsight?

He opened his eyes and padded over to a side table that held a small sealed bottle of wine. He'd bought it today and taken it to his room, tucked inside his shirt. His underlings knew of his fondness for certain vintages, but he never entrusted purchase of them to any member of his house, even if those who served him were less inclined to murder him than others were their masters.

He broke the seal and carried the wine to his small balcony that overlooked the harbor. The moon, a thin silver crescent, was almost down, and he saw only the tiny dots of orange flame from lamps lining the dockside. The tide was going out and the night wind reeked of rotting seaweed.

The wine was really too young to drink, but he welcomed the raw taste of it. He should use a glass, but he wasn't in the mood to be 'civilized.' He took another pull from the bottle as he thought of the spirit's words. The three clues she had given him were all centered on one Crow. And it had to be someone he knew, or the clues were worse than useless. That narrowed it down somewhat, but he knew many Crows.

He examined the first clue, and snorted in disgust. Considering they were all assassins, they were all as black as sin. But why would she say that one wasn't? He put it aside and focused on the second. Maybe there were some who still had something of a heart left, but any Crow who survived the guild's brutal training regimen would certainly have learned to hide it, even from themselves. Which left him with the third – the serpent lines of death. The bottle paused halfway to his lips.

She'd said this Crow wore the serpent lines of death on his face. He knew only one man who bore lines that curved like a serpent.

"Zevran Arainai," Stefan whispered. The symbols on his face were old, but they didn't symbolize death, not according to that ancient scholar's text Stefan had read. Unless…the text was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time a scholar had been mistaken, especially where elven history and lore was concerned. And Arainai did have something of a heart left.

Stefan slipped back into his room to his desk and picked up the report that had arrived that morning. He brought it close to the lamp and scanned it. The report stated that the Wardens still lived, so the agent had assumed that Zevran was dead with the rest. No bodies had been found, only traces of ash. They'd been cremated with mage fire, according to the agent.

The assassin's death was a very reasonable assumption, so there was no point in punishing the agent for that. Even if Zevran had survived the hit, it made no sense for the marks to spare the one who tried to kill them. Except, they had, in this case. Stefan had lost the vision when he tried to reach too deep into it, but Zevran had clearly been alive, if defeated.

Stefan sank down into a chair, staring at the report, the wine bottle forgotten in his hand. But why would the elf help him? Well, there was only one way to know, wasn't there? All Stefan had to do was find him.


	48. Chapter 48

_Hope everyone had a happy holiday! Fortunately, where I live didn't get buried in snow from the storms that have passed through recently. But hey, winter's not over yet. There's still a chance._

_Well, our merry band has finally made it to Denerim. (No wardens disguised as bearded dancing girls, though.) To all those who've reviewed, favorited/alerted - many, many thanks. Your support, as always, is much appreciated._

_Posting may get a bit irregular in the next month or so (all those pesky real-life commitments). And, as ever, reviews/comments/random thoughts are always welcome._

_Enjoy!  
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**Darrian Tabris**

We entered Denerim just after mid-day, when the traffic into and out of the city tended to be the heaviest. A farm wagon carrying a load of squawking chickens in slotted crates rumbled along in front. While, behind us, a woman soothed a nervous horse pulling a cart piled high with unwashed fleeces. I had expected the gate guards to be more watchful after what Soris and I had done. But they only gave our wagon a quick glance and asked our business. Wynne hadn't even finished her statement before they were waving us through.

On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed. The pungent smell of horse manure mingled with the aromas of baking bread and roses as we skirted the edge of the city's main market square. Roasting meat from inns preparing mid-day meals competed with the acrid scent of an outdoor forge. Vendors cried out their wares. But the tenor of the market-place felt different. I saw it in the darting glances people gave us, their hands staying near their purses or a weapon if they carried one, and many were. The banter between vendors and those buying sounded strained.

Walking behind the wagon, Zevran and I led our horses. Alistair slouched in his saddle, riding on the left and looking suitably scruffy as we passed a group of guards on their way to relieve a watch. In plain clothes, he seemed like any traveler picked up on the road, come looking for work in Denerim. Morrigan, perched at the right end of the wagon seat, scowled at anyone who even glanced her way.

Sten rode on the right, playing the part of a mercenary hired to help guard a minstrel, an herbalist, a healer mage, and their elven servants on the road. Tam trotted beside him.

I glanced at Zevran, his hair now a non-descript brown. I'd assured him that the plant dye Morrigan had found should rinse out with a few washings. Not used to wearing it unbound, he kept tucking strands behind his ears to keep them out of the way. It didn't help that it was windy.

"This is why I braid it," he muttered, then tugged at the worn grey shirt he was wearing. He glanced down at his old scuffed boots and sighed. The fine Antivan ones were safely put away with our armor and Alistair's, all hidden beneath a pile of blankets and camping gear in the wagon. Our weapons, including Alistair's shield were stowed in a locked chest.

Zevran glanced at me and that familiar smirk crossed his face. He edged a little closer to me so he could keep his voice low. "So, how many throwing daggers did you hide?"

"Eight."

"The usual places?"

Let's see, one on each forearm, two at the small of my back, one in each boot and two strapped to my chest. "Yes."

He laughed. "Maker, we're starting to talk like Sten."

"That may not be a bad idea, actually. Don't take this wrong, but the less you speak the less likely someone's going to identify you as a foreigner."

"Probably true, but you do realize that all that lack of exercise for my tongue is going to have to be made up somehow, yes?"

I stifled a laugh and it came out sounding like a snort. Alistair glanced at me then gave me a very subtle shake of his head. Wynne pulled the horses to a stop and we waited for a line of pack-mules to amble by, headed in the direction of the docks. Once clear, we trailed along behind them since we were going that way, as well. The inns were cheap near the waterfront, and used to a more varied clientele, so that the rather unusual nature of our group wouldn't draw attention.

The Leaky Dinghy didn't seem a very auspicious name for an inn, but it was large, and from the outside it looked well kept. Two elven servants hurried up, then led the horses away after we pulled into the stone courtyard behind the inn. The men didn't even look Zevran or me in the eye when they came for our horses after taking Sten's and Alistair's to the stable. Zevran glanced at me and shrugged. We went to unhitch the cart horses after Wynne pulled into a place on the side of the courtyard to keep the cart out of the way.

Alistair scratched at his chin. Four days worth of beard really did make a difference. Add in a slouch, a different way of combing his hair and the plain brown shirt and pants of a workman, he seemed like a different person.

He glanced at some city guards entering the inn. "You sure about this place, Zevran?"

"The food is good, and the place is clean. The pickpockets and cutpurses stay away because the city guard likes to drink here off duty since they have decent ale and don't water it down. Keep your face low, and there shouldn't be any problems."

Alistair frowned. "Keep my face low?"

"I think he means don't draw attention," I said.

In keeping with his disguise, Alistair just grunted in reply. While we retrieved our packs from the wagon, Leli and Wynne went inside to arrange rooms. Since Zevran and I were elves, we wouldn't be expected to share a room with any of the humans.

"I'm going to assume you never slept here," I said to Zevran when we found the room assigned to us. It was barely big enough to hold the bed. A rickety table held a lamp, and a chest was shoved under the tiny window through which I saw the stables behind the inn. The room seemed clean, at least.

"It's better than sleeping on the ground," he said as he sat down on the bed. I dropped my travel pack next to his on top of the chest. He leaned back on his arms and grinned at me. He'd even dyed his eyebrows as well, something I hadn't thought of, but it made sense. But he couldn't change the color of his eyes, or the lines that curved along his cheeks.

"Something bothers you, my Warden?" he asked when I frowned as I studied his face.

"The _vallaslin _on your face, I don't think I've ever seen marks like that on any other elf."

"You won't, unless they happen to be a Crow. They're-" He sat up abruptly. "_Mierda_. I have the brains of a fish." He said something else, more to himself than me and in Antivan.

I sat down next to him. "We could add to the pattern, enough to disguise it. My mother taught me-

"No," he said, shaking his head. "They're…sacred. Would you change the ones on your face?"

"Zevran-" I raked my hands through my hair then sighed. "No, mine are sacred to. They show that I'm pledged to Andruil, goddess of the hunt."

He arched a brow. "You know their meaning? Ah, of course, your mother was Dalish, so you would."

"What do these mean?" I traced the line of one with my fingertip. He took my hand, then kissed it before answering.

"They were given to me by an elven Master when I was sixteen. Few elves are raised to that rank. He was…exceptional. I made an oath to him not to reveal them, not even to another elf."

"I understand."

I traced the lines again. With his hair darker, the lines seemed more prominent since they didn't blend in as well with his altered coloring. Despite that he was the only elf I'd ever seen who carried curving lines like this, they nagged at my memory for some reason. Unique as they were though, anyone who recognized them would probably recognize him.

"If only Crows carry them then…what was it you said?...'you might as well put a target on your back showing the best place to stick a dagger.' ''

He slipped his arm around my hips and nuzzled my hair. "Well, we could stay here while the others gather information on the political situation. I can certainly think of ways to pass the time. There's a few positions I'd like to show you that are much easier in a bedroom."

I sighed. "Tempting as that is, I need to check on more than just Loghain. There's my kin and…something I'm going to need your help with."

He pulled back, his eyes widening. "You're thinking of assassinating someone?"

"No. More like a theft…kind of."

"My Warden, it's either a theft or it isn't." He grinned. "You're not planning on stealing from Loghain, are you?"

"Not exactly. And I'm not sure it's really theft…unless you can steal from yourself. Well, from the Grey Warden compound in the Castle, actually. And…I haven't told Alistair about what I'm planning."

"Ah, you think he wouldn't approve."

I slipped my arm around his hips. "Partly, but I'm more concerned he might want to go with me…that he'll see it as an opportunity to go after Loghain. Alistair…took Duncan's death very hard."

I swallowed, and looked away. Zevran's hand slipped up to my cheek, and he gently tugged at my head. "And you didn't?"

I turned to face him, and his hand stayed on my cheek. "There's bigger things at stake here than personal vengeance. I don't know if killing Loghain now would help, or just make things worse. And I don't think we can afford to find out."

His eyes narrowed, and he studied me for a long moment. "One question then, why and what do you want to steal from the Warden compound?"

"Have you seen my armor? Darkspawn blood is like an acid, eating away at the leather. And Alistair needs a better sword. When we traveled to Ostagar, Duncan told me about the armory at the Denerim compound. Warden gear is treated to make it more resistant to Darkspawn blood. The only reason we didn't stop off there when he recruited me was that the watch wanted me out of the city by nightfall. There wasn't time to go there and check out decent weapons and gear, then get out by sunset."

He smiled. "It's been a while since I've done a hit like that. Should be fun, yes?"

Fun wasn't exactly the word I would have used, but I knew what Zevran meant. He seemed to enjoy a challenge. A good thing, since while getting in might not be too hard, getting out with armor and weapons was going to be difficult. And there was still the matter of his _vallaslin. _But I thought I might have a solution for that. I touched a line on his cheek.

"What if the alteration I did was temporary? There are inks that stain the skin, and then fade completely away after a few weeks, leaving the permanent marks untouched."

He tilted his head and studied the ceiling for a few moments, then looked at me. "Yes, that would be alright, and I really would prefer not to hide in this room for Maker knows how long." He nuzzled my cheek. "Not that I wouldn't mind staying in bed with you for a week".

I rested my forehead against his. "Neither would I."

His hand slid under my shirt, coming to rest on my hip. "Hmmm, I believe our presence is not required for several hours yet. I can't imagine how we'll pass the time."

I laughed, and pulled him down with me onto the bed.


	49. Chapter 49

_Many thanks to those who've favorited/alerted this. And, of course, to brownc0at, for being my beta and for her support and comma round-up._

_Enjoy! And, as always, comments/random thoughts are welcome._

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**Zevran Arainai**

It was raining when I woke, about an hour after dawn. The empty space beside me still held a trace of warmth, so I knew my Warden had just left. Heading out to buy those inks he had told me of yesterday and to check on his kin. I smiled, thinking of his cousin who had brained an arrogant human noble with a bottle. A woman with fire and spirit. And one who had paid a heavy price for it.

I rolled over and gazed at the rain dripping off the eaves above the window. I hoped, for my Warden's sake, that he found her well. Or as well as could be expected, considering what had been done to her. At least the vermin _shem _responsible were dead.

Tam rose from his place on the floor next to the bed and licked my face.

"Aargh, don't do that," I sputtered, jerking upright and wiping dog spit off my face. He huffed and looked at the door, then back at me, and wagged his tail.

"Oh, that makes it better?"

Before I could grab the blanket, he snatched it off the bed and flung it onto the floor. I laughed.

"All right, my four-legged friend, I can take a hint."

After I let him out, I started picking my clothes up off the floor, where they'd been scattered after returning from dinner. Not that there was much floor. I'd seen closets that were bigger. But at least we had privacy, and it was better than sleeping in the stables. I had just finished dressing when someone knocked on the door.

"It's open."

The door swung inward, and to my surprise, Morrigan stood there, wearing that black skirt she seemed to favor and a much less revealing blouse. No red ribbons in her hair, though.

"Ah, and what brings you to my room, lovely temptress?" I leaned against the wall and folded my arms.

She scowled at me. "I wasn't looking for you. I was looking for Darrian."

Interesting, she used his name instead of just saying, 'the Warden.'

I waved a hand. "He went to the market, and to see his family. I'm not sure when he'll be back."

"I'm surprised you're not with him. Trailing after him like a second shadow, the way you've been doing for the last several weeks." She stepped into the room. "Have you given up looking for an opportunity?" She fingered her staff.

My hand slipped up to the dagger strapped to my forearm underneath my shirt sleeve. "I gave him my word. My service belongs to him till he sees fit to release me."

"Yes, I've noticed how you service him."

I chuckled as my fingers found the dagger's hilt. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."

She frowned. "What are you looking for, I wonder?"

"I could ask the same of you. You aren't following him across Ferelden because you're concerned about his health."

She smiled, a small dark one that sent a shiver between my shoulder blades. "Why don't you ask him if you're so curious?"

"I doubt that he knows."

"Yes, life is full of mysteries, isn't it?"

I laughed. "Now who is the one who is full of secrets, my beautiful witch?"

"It seems we both are." Her smile disappeared back into that cool look she always gave those around her. "Just remember, he's not here for your amusement. Without him, the Blight will devour us all."

"He's not the only Grey Warden."

She waved her hand. "Alistair fights well enough, but he follows when he should be leading. Defeating the darkspawn requires far more than ramming a shield into them."

I pushed away from the wall and released my hold on my dagger. "Shall I tell my Warden you were looking for him, oh magical temptress?"

She gave me an odd look and then shrugged. "If you wish. I'll be with the bard in the common room."

I watched her as she glided down the hallway. She had sought Darrian out for some reason, then dismissed her concern as if it were of no importance when I offered to tell him of her visit. Perhaps there hadn't been a reason to begin with. Perhaps she had only come to check on him. But I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

She always set her tent up apart, not out of sight, but far enough away that it was plain she did not wish to share company with us. That didn't keep him from seeking her out and spending long hours in conversation. Considering her short, acerbic responses to anything everyone else said, it seemed odd that she would tolerate such intimacies with him. But she did.

Tam wandered back then, licking his muzzle and looking quite pleased with himself. He pushed his head under my hand, and I scratched him behind his ears. I wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to attach himself to me, but it was better than the alternative.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

He whuffed and ambled past me into the bedroom, heading for the bed.

My nose wrinkled at his smell. "I don't think so, my four-legged friend. Not until you get a bath."

He whined and lowered his head. I pointed to the door. If he really didn't want to co-operate, there was nothing I could do. He was too strong for me to wrestle out of the room. He whined again, but trotted to the door and followed me to the inn's bathing room where I grabbed some soap, a wash cloth, a small bucket, and an armful of towels.

In the stone courtyard behind the inn, I asked one of the inn grooms where I could clean Tam up. The groom waved a hand at a small enclosure off on the left as he shoved a manure shovel under a pile of horse droppings.

"There's a pump over there." He never looked at me, just dumped his shovel-load into a cart, but I sensed him watching as I primed the pump. I kept my back to him, pretending that I wasn't aware of his scrutiny. I wondered whom he was spying for. Not the Crows, he lacked a certain 'professionalism.'

Tam sat beside me and watched as I pumped the handle and filled the bucket. He looked at the bucket and wagged his tail. I kept my voice low so the groom wouldn't hear me.

"Why do you pretend you don't like this? Is it because dogs aren't supposed to like baths?" The mabari wagged his tail harder. I chuckled. "So, you really like them? Ah, you are a disgrace to dogs everywhere, my furry friend." I poured some soap into the bucket. "Well, I won't tell anyone if you don't."

He cleaned up quite well, even if I ended up as wet as he was afterwards. I glanced down and pulled my wet shirt away from my skin. I hate wearing wet clothes.

"Perhaps a little less enthusiasm next time, yes?" He shook himself again. I wiped water out of my eyes, sighing as it dripped off my hair and down my neck. At least Tam didn't smell like dog anymore, wet or dry. He let me towel him off and then trotted back to the inn.

After depositing the cleaning supplies back in the bathing room and dumping the towels off in the inn laundry, I headed back to the room to change into dry clothes.

I changed and left my damp clothes draped over the table to dry. Breakfast called and I found Morrigan in a far corner of the common room, sorting herbs. Leli sat across from her, replacing the strings on her lute, Tam settled by her feet. Sten was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was looking for a baker. I was halfway across the room when a human rose from a nearby table and intercepted me.

Tall, even for a human, he planted his meaty hands on his hips. I had to look up at him.

"Where do you think you're going, knife-ear?" His voice was a low growl.

I shifted to the balls of my feet. Leli glanced up and put aside her lute.

"I was planning on breakfast with the lovely ladies," I said, motioning behind him.

His eyes narrowed, and his hands balled up. Behind my back, I twisted my arm and the small throwing dagger slid into my hand.

"Now, there's no need for violence," Leli said, coming up behind him. He twisted around, his face getting red.

"He's with me," she said, her hand resting on her dagger. I eased back a step and slightly to the side to flank him. If the _shem_ was foolish enough to believe that this lovely, delicate looking creature was harmless, then he deserved to be gutted.

He scowled at her. "Servants eat in the kitchen."

He turned back to me. Leliana stepped forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back. He yelped in pain but stilled when she pressed her blade against his throat.

"You were saying, _mon ami?"_

"Let me go, you Orlesian bitch."

She twisted his arm harder, and he stifled a yelp. "Tsk, such language, not fit for a fine lady's ears. Your mother would be so disappointed, no? And if you're thinking of revenge, look at the lady in the corner." His eyes slid toward Morrigan, then to the staff leaning against the wall. "The inn cats look very hungry. You would make such a plump mouse, a sweet morsel for them, I think." She leaned closer. "And all those stories about bards? They're true, every one." He turned pale as milk. "Now, do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, my lady."

She released him, and he scurried away, rubbing his arm and looking over his shoulder. A flick of my wrist, and the dagger slid back into its sheath. She tucked her hand around my elbow, as if I were escorting her to a dance, as we made our way to the corner table.

"I thought we weren't supposed to attract attention, my fair Orlesian flower."

"You weren't. I can." She leaned in. "And if I do, they won't be paying attention to you, will they?"

I chuckled as I slid into the chair next to her. "You have a devious little mind, you know that?"

Morrigan glanced up from her sorting. "She's not the only one."

"Ah, are you including yourself, then?"

She scowled and turned back to her herbs. Leli caught my eye and shook her head, just enough for me to catch the warning, so I said nothing more.

The serving maid came up then with a tray full of griddle cakes, sausages and pots of hot tea. She frowned at me, but didn't say anything, as she set butter and honey on the table before retreating back to the kitchen.

"Hmmm, you were right about the food," Leliana said after sampling the griddle cakes. Morrigan put aside her sorting and joined us. It was a pleasant breakfast, even if Morrigan did spend half of it giving me looks that could curdle cream.


	50. Chapter 50

_As always, a heartfelt thank you to those who've added this to favorites/alerts and reviewed. And, of course, all you shadow watchers._

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** Darrian Tabris**

By the time I finished selecting the inks I had discussed with Zevran, brushes, pencils and a small sketchbook, the rain had stopped. On a whim, I decided to include tattoo needles and several bottles of permanent ink in basic colors. I usually blended the shades I wanted, since shopkeepers seldom carried the colors I preferred to use. The human shopkeeper frowned at me as she handed over my change.

"You look familiar," she said as I began tucking my purchases into one of the Antivan leather bags I had bought from the leather merchant in Brandel's Landing.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes down. "From the south. My mistress is just visiting. Never seen Denerim before," I said, slipping the packet of needles and the fine brushes into a small side pouch sewn on the inside of the bag, and hoping my accent sounded close enough to the one I'd heard in Lothering. Apparently, it did.

"Well, don't know what I was thinking. Bloody knife-ears all look alike," she muttered. My jaw clenched as I stuffed the pencils and sketch book into the pouch then scooped up the ink bottles.

"Be careful with those," she said sharply. "I don't think your mistress-"

"I know what I'm doing," I said, looking directly into her face. Blessed Creators, I couldn't do this anymore, pretending a submission I had never felt. I'd taken down a tower full of abominations and slain a sloth-demon in the Fade, and this bloody _shem-_

I grabbed a hold of my temper, and closed over the flap of the bag. She was staring at me, but by the time she'd recovered I'd already reached the door and taken one step outside. I let the door slam behind me.

"Well, so much for 'keeping my face low,'" I muttered as I made my way across the center of the square and shifted the bag strap higher on my shoulder. I'd planned on being in the city for no more than a few days, so my slip shouldn't be a fatal one, I hoped.

I slowed my pace and tried to slip back into the role of a visitor who'd never been to Denerim before. The scents of flowers and spices drifted past me, and I glanced to the right. A pretty dark-haired woman hovered near a bin of rose petals, talking and smiling at a customer. I knew the perfume merchant was Orlesian. Leli probably missed her home too, though she never talked much about it.

I drifted away from them, sidestepping small rain puddles and wondering if Zevran was even awake yet. He liked sleeping in when we weren't on the road, though he could come instantly awake at the smallest sound. I smiled; no doubt he was still bedded down in the cool soft sheets. He'd probably wander out of the room sometime around mid-day, looking for a meal. He'd told me last night that he planned on sticking pretty close to the inn while scouting for information, just whatever tidbits he happened to come across along the dockside and some of the seamier taverns that didn't object to an elf dropping a few coins for an ale.

People cast me odd sideways looks that I put down to _shem_ prejudice until I came to the main gate of the alienage. Only one guard stood watch. But the gate was closed, and a heavy chain had been draped across it and locked onto thick iron rings hammered into the stout beams on either side. Neither the chain nor the rings had been there when I left over three months ago.

The guard's hand closed around his sword hilt, and I halted. He looked very young.

"The alienage is closed for the time being. No one's allowed in."

I stared at the heavy chain, and my gut tightened. Without thought, I found my hand moving towards where my sword normally hung. I shifted the motion to a tug on my shirt, and hoped the guard just thought it a nervous gesture. I felt battle tension rising, my heart speeding up and my weight shifting forward.

"I have…friends in there."

He pulled his sword half-way out. Not as green as he looked, it seemed. "Get going. No one enters or leaves till Arl Howe says so."

"Arl Howe?"

The guard nodded but didn't release his weapon. "He's Arl of Denerim now, and in charge of the city guard. Been some trouble in there. And it stays locked till that gets sorted out."

I could take him, easily. And call down a world of trouble on myself and the rest of my companions. I backed up a step. As I turned around, I saw him ease his sword back into its sheath. I focused on keeping a slow steady pace as I walked past the chantry and into a long narrow alley, that backed up against several small shops.

Leaning back in a shallow alcove halfway down the alley, I took a deep breath, and tried to slow my racing heart. Blessed Creators, how long had the alienage been locked up? What about my father? Shianni and Soris? Were they alive? Unharmed? What of the others? And what exactly did the guard mean by 'sorted out'?

I glanced back. There was more than one way in and out of the alienage. And this time, at least, I had someone to watch my back while I used it.


	51. Chapter 51

_The plan was to slip into Denerim, find out what was going on, then slip out without anyone the wiser. But things never quite go as planned, do they? _

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**Master Stefan**

Stefan knew that Ignacio had been looking for an opportunity to take his place as House Master for a long time. And Ignacio knew that he knew. It didn't change the polite exchange of conversation as Stefan pretended to be a buyer interested in a fine silk wall hanging from Orlais. The Crows preferred their cells, both inside and outside of Antiva, to conduct business as unobtrusively as possible. A principle Stefan agreed with, but at times the deception seemed a bit silly, since those in power here in Denerim knew who he and Ignacio were. But he played the game, pointless as it seemed, to preserve the illusion that he knew nothing of his second's impending betrayal.

Confirmation of the Fade spirit's warning had come in a copy of a private letter from the Guild Master to Ignacio that told of the Crow leader's grave displeasure that one of his House Masters seemed to have trouble seeing that prime contracts were properly carried out. The contents hadn't surprised Stefan. Neither had the note at the end that the Guild Master planned on sending Master Jepheth, now Chief Enforcer, to Ferelden to look into the matter.

The copy had been forwarded to Stefan by a contact in Antiva who owed her position in the Guild Master's House to 'information' Stefan had provided. Favor for favor to re-pay a debt was a time-honored Crow tradition. Unfortunately, with the delivery of that letter three days ago, that debt was now paid in full, and Stefan could look for no further assistance from her. Since alliances were fueled by gold and favors, loyalty was a fluid concept in the Crows.

Ignacio draped the rug over a stand so that the gold threads woven into a hunter's cloak glittered in the sun. An ambitious man, but not a stupid one. If he hadn't made a move, it was simply because Stefan had been very careful never to give him an opening. That would change with Jepheth's arrival in less than a week. The Chief Enforcer wouldn't be coming alone, either. He would bring his best underlings and journeymen, and a great deal of gold.

Stefan smiled. "Tell me, have you anything from Antiva?"

Ignacio shrugged. "Nothing at the moment."

A lie, of course. The arrival of the head of the Crow enforcers from Antiva City was precisely the kind of information his second should be telling him.

"See how it catches the light, _ser? _A fine piece to add to your collection," Ignacio said in a merchant's voice, smooth and just ingratiating enough not to be annoying.

Stefan glanced at him, then back at the hunting party galloping through a forest glade, chasing a stag at the very edge of the weaving.

"You say that of every piece you offer me."

Ignacio smiled and made a broad gesture with his hand. "Only because you're a man of exquisite and discerning taste."

Stefan fingered the edge of the weaving. It really was a beautiful piece. Too large to carry with him when he left the Crows, it still gave him the means to give a reason for being gone from the city for several weeks.

"I'm planning a small trip to visit some friends. It's been some time since I've seen them. They also have an interest in such works."

The look in Ignacio's dark eyes sharpened. "Ah, then I may persuade you to purchase this fine piece as a gift? I'll even give a discount. Say, twenty sovereigns for it?"

"Agreed," Stefan said, waving a hand and smiling. "I'm not entirely sure when I'll be leaving, though. Travel arrangements are rather…problematic these days."

His second nodded. "I've heard of the…unrest in the bannorn." He shook his head. "Nasty business that, the Grey Wardens and the death of the Fereldan king at Ostagar. I'd be wary of traveling south, ser."

"I'll be heading north, towards Amaranthine. My friends live along the coast," Stefan said. "But I'll take your warning under advisement." He reached for his purse, then handed over the price of his freedom, plus an extra two sovereigns. "Have it delivered, will you? I've business that takes me elsewhere this day. I don't expect to be home till late evening."

"Of course, ser. And good fortune to you this fine day."

"And to you."

Stefan inclined his head and strolled away, heading for the chantry. He needed a place to think where he wouldn't be disturbed…by anyone. The front doors were currently guarded by two templars, but there were other ways into the building. Once past the small shrine behind a public well, he slipped into a narrow alley barely wide enough for a man to pass through. The tiny neglected garden, tucked behind a far corner of the chantry, hosted a back door that, as far as Stefan knew, only he had used in the last three years since his arrival in Denerim.

The old lock yielded quickly He slipped inside, then closed the door gently behind him. Inside, behind stacks of dusty boxes and a table piled with ancient texts, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light that filtered through the small window above the door. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of old ink and fragile parchment, let himself dwell, for just a heartbeat or two, as he always did when he entered this room, in the dreams of a boy who'd wanted to pursue knowledge for its own sake. Then he pushed those thoughts aside, and glided over to the door of the small storage room.

He heard no one padding outside, and no voices. There were no shadows to hide him in the short, narrow hallway outside that led to the sanctuary. But both were usually empty this time of day. He cracked the door open and saw no one, sensed no one. Though the sanctuary was empty of everything but the heavy scent of funeral incense, he slipped into the deep shadows of an alcove to the right of the altar, so that if anyone strayed in, he wouldn't be spotted.

He leaned back against the wall and let loose a long breath. Ignacio hadn't given him any sign that he suspected Stefan had planned anything other than visiting contacts he had planted in Amaranthine to gather intelligence and keep an eye on Rendon Howe's affairs outside of Denerim. Assuming anything else, though, would be foolish. His 'trip' was conveniently close to Jepheth's arrival.

There had been no mention in the letter of Stefan's half-blood. But he hadn't expected that the Guild Master would mention such a vital piece of information to an underling. That didn't mean he wasn't aware of it. And if he knew, so did Jepheth.

As soon as the Chief Enforcer landed and met with Ignacio, Stefan had to assume the worst. Jepheth would send agents out looking for him. Crows would be dispatched to Amaranthine, of course, if nothing else to inform his contacts of the change in who ruled the house in Denerim. Ferelden was bigger than Antiva, though, and nowhere near as settled. Stay off the main roads and away from the few cities and sizeable towns, and Stefan had a chance of evading them. He could head south, toward Gwaren, then find a ship to take him someplace far from the Crows. There had to be a limit to how long even their reach extended.

It seemed like a decent plan, except for the Fade spirit's insistence that only another Crow could show him the way out of the nest. Even if Zevran did somehow hold the key, Stefan had no idea where he was. Since his encounter with the spirit, he'd kept an ear dockside and among the taverns and inns the assassin had favored, but nothing had borne any fruit. And there were only a handful of days left before he would be forced to leave.

Stefan pulled away from the wall and headed back to the small storage room. It wouldn't hurt to check his contacts one last time.

* * *

Another sovereign appeared in his fingers. "You're certain?" Stefan asked.

"Yes, three lines on each cheek, dark blue, curving like this." The stable cleaner at the Leaky Dinghy traced the path of Zevran's _vallaslin_ down his cheek. "Just the way you described them, though his hair was brown, not gold. He washed a mabari and then went back inside. Eating breakfast now, I assume." The sovereign disappeared into an inside pocket of his vest. "Others were with him when they arrived yesterday, late in the afternoon."

"Was one of them a male elf with russet hair and gray eyes?"

The groom nodded. "There were four humans, too. Three women and a scruffy-looking man. Along with a qunari."

"How long since the elf with the lines on his face went back inside?"

The groom shrugged. "Not long. Chantry bell had just rung the hour when he did." And it was only a few minutes past that, by Stefan's reckoning, which meant that Zevran was probably still inside. The Crow master handed the stable cleaner five more sovereigns. The man's eyes widened, but he just nodded, and the gold quickly vanished. Stefan knew he understood that he was being paid for silence as well as information. He turned to pick up his shovel. By the time he turned back around, Stefan had slipped away.

The Crow master smiled from his perch on the inn roof, peering around the chimney while the groom looked around, puzzled. Then the man shrugged and resumed scooping up the pungent manure piles that seemed to sprout up from the cobblestones. Fereldans weren't used to being spied on or the target of assassination, so they never thought to look up. Though, in fairness to his native Antiva City, people there seldom looked up as well.

Now, how to approach Zevran, Stefan thought, as he settled into a more comfortable sitting position. The man didn't owe him any favors, and his first instinct would probably be to attack the moment he saw his former master. After all, he had failed his contract. That Zevran still lived argued that whichever Warden led their little group, he was a man who didn't kill out of hand, not even the one who had been hired to kill him and his fellow Warden. That argued for a man who looked beyond the immediate and obvious, a man who might give Stefan a way out of the nest. But which one? The human, or the elf?

Zevran would know. Stefan smiled as a plan took shape in his mind. His hand slipped over the top of the small leather pouch hanging from his belt. Inside were a handful of darts dipped in a mix of powerful and fast acting soporifics. The current dosage and recipe on the needle tips wore off fairly quickly, but left the victim dizzy and disoriented for an hour or so afterward.

Stefan studied the maze of streets that wound between the taverns, brothels and warehouses all jumbled together down here by the docks. He knew of at least three places within a few blocks of this tavern where he could hide a certain assassin overnight, if needed.

The tavern had four doors. One opened directly into the kitchen, while the one on the east side was a service entrance, so Zevran wasn't likely to exit through either of those. A renegade Crow would also probably avoid the front entrance that opened up onto a busy and very public street. That left the door on the south side that let one onto the stone courtyard behind the inn. A conveniently placed narrow alley that started just behind the inn stables and snaked between the warehouses along the waterfront made a more tempting route. Cross-streets intersected the alley in several places and provided ready exits if needed.

The back of the stable butted up against a two-story building. Stay flat on the other side of the peaked roof of the stable where the two buildings met and back from the edge, and Zevran wouldn't see him when he looked up.

Stefan smiled when the elven servant scooped up the last manure pile, then trundled away with his half-full wagon. After he'd left the courtyard, Stefan slipped off the inn roof and glided over to the stable, quickly taking to the roof. He pulled out the black silk mask he always carried in his pocket, then slipped it on before settling down to waiting.


	52. Chapter 52

_Many thanks to all those who read this, lurkers in the shadows, reviewers and those who've added this (and me!) to alerts. Your support is much appreciated._

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**Zevran Arainai**

Oh, Maker, my jaw hurt, but it didn't feel as if any teeth had been loosened. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and winced, as needles of pain lanced through the left side of my skull, a side effect of 'Moonlight Dreams.' I'd been exposed often enough to the various soporifics that supplemented the Crow arsenal of poisons to recognize the hazy warmth it engendered just before it knocked you on your ass. I had, at least, gotten one good punch in before the drugs took full effect. I wondered who I had hit, since whoever threw that dart had been wearing a mask.

"_Mierda,"_ I muttered, pulling at the ropes binding my hands. They were lashed behind a stout beam in an empty warehouse. Surprisingly, my legs were free, and I still had my weapons. Though my hands were bound in such a way I couldn't twist a wrist to release the dagger strapped to either forearm.

The warehouse smelled of dust and mold, the way that a place does when it's been closed up for a while. Sunlight filtered through high windows somewhere above me and fell in scattered fragments on the floor.

"Ah, good, you're awake," a familiar voice said.

"Master Stefan."

He touched the side of his face and winced. "Your reflexes are exceptional, Arainai. Remind me not to underestimate them next time."

I leaned my head back against the beam and tried to focus on Master Stefan. He sat on a crate, one hand resting on his dagger hilt. Except that there seemed to be two of him, blending in and out of one another, he looked much as I remembered him.

"Oh, there's going to be a next time? I'd rather thought that might be difficult without my hands. Or is the current fashion to start with the feet? Being gone from Antiva for a while makes it difficult to keep up with the latest trends in torture."

He cocked his head. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to why you're here in an abandoned warehouse?"

I closed my eyes. Seeing two of him made my stomach queasy. "I assumed this was a private party."

To my surprise, he didn't say anything. And honestly, I was curious, especially since I still had my weapons. Of course, it could all be part of some elaborate torture plan. Except that Master Stefan, unlike many masters I've known, didn't seem the type to indulge in such fancies.

I cracked open an eye. Since there only seemed to be one of him, I opened both.

"Well, now that you mention that, it does seem a bit curious."

He gazed at the dusty floor a moment, his hands shifting to rest on top of his thighs. Then he pulled a dark pouch of blue silk from the inner pocket of his vest and held it up.

"Do you remember when I asked you if you believed in seers?"

I glanced at the silk pouch in his hand. He pulled open the tie, and a clear oval crystal, the size of his palm, slid into his hand.

"It's a seeing stone," Master Stefan said. "A very old one, given to me by the person who trained me."

I stared at him. "You're claiming to be a…seer?"

He smiled. "I'm not claiming. I am a seer. Shall I tell you what I've seen?"

When he leaned forward, the crystal fell within a stray spear of sunlight and seemed to glow from within. Or perhaps that was only the lingering effect of the drugs. His voice was low and intense as he continued, and despite my doubts, I found myself listening closely.

"I've seen this Blight, usually in dreams, an Archdemon bellowing on the heights, and you…Zevran Arainai…dancing below it, in the midst of the battle. I saw that before you even bid on the Warden contract." His mouth twitched towards a smile. "So, I think you can assume that you'll survive this meeting with all your limbs intact."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

It's never wise to anger a master, but I'd failed my contract. The Crows had only one answer for that. Since he wasn't typical, there was a chance I could bargain for a clean death. Though I didn't want to betray the oath I'd given my Warden.

His eyes shifted back to the scrying stone. "I saw the battle where you fell." He described in detail the narrow ravine, the fallen tree, the scrapes and bruises he'd seen on my arms and face, and even the approximate time of day from the shape and length of the shadow thrown across me as I lay unconscious. He looked back at me. "I lost the vision when I tried to see who cast the shadow."

I swallowed, a shiver coursing down my spine. Maker, he really was a seer.

I glanced back at the crystal, an exquisite example of the glass blower's art. I'd never seen any fortune teller in the marketplace use one like that.

"What do you want, Master?"

He smiled in a way I didn't expect. Crows don't really smile. The corners of their mouths tilt up in imitation of one, but it's only a mask. This smile, though, was real.

"I want to leave the nest. And I've been informed, by a reliable source, that you are my way out."

I stared at him. "Me? How do I …oh, Maker…" I started laughing. Fortune was playing a very bad joke on me. How could I help him leave when the Crows were after my head for failing a contract?

"You still live, when, by anyone's reckoning, you should be dead," Master Stefan said. "Why _did_ the Wardens spare your life?"

"To be honest, I'm not really sure. I overheard my Warden say something once, that it seemed there had been enough killing that day I…went after him."

Master Stefan's eyes narrowed. "My Warden?"

Too late, I realized my slip. _Mierda, _I was getting careless, but there was no helping it. The dagger had been drawn, so to speak. "The one in charge, Darrian Tabris."

"Interesting, an elf leads them," he murmured, then looked at me. "And none of the humans traveling with him seem to object?"

I shrugged, deciding he could read that as he wished. No one in our little group openly objected, though they often tended to second-guess his decisions.

"I would like to meet this man."

Of course, Master Stefan could be lying about wanting to leave. This conversation could be nothing more than part of an elaborate plot to fulfill the contract.

"You don't believe me," he said when I stayed silent. He slipped the seeing crystal back into the silk pouch before tucking it inside his vest pocket. "Little reason you should, I suppose. We Crows are not very good when it comes to dealing in truth, are we, Zevran?"

The use of my first name surprised me. If there was one thing masters relished, it was the opportunity to remind underlings of their place, particularly if one was an elf.

"We build lives of deception, of pretence," he continued. "We learn not to trust the surface or what lies below it…ever." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and interlacing his fingers. "My whole life has been one of pretence, even before my uncle sold me to the Crows. He thought he was just getting rid of his sister's bastard. A fully human child was embarrassment enough, but one who has elven blood…well, we both know how that is usually resolved within even a minor noble's house, don't we? And we both know what the Guild will do if they find me."

Oh, Maker, Fortune just wasn't laughing at my expense, she was playing dice with me.

"The Crows…they found out about your half-blood."

He nodded. "I don't know exactly how. Let's just say a 'friend' warned me in time. I've also received information that Master Jepheth left Antiva City and should be arriving in Denerim in a few days. He's Chief Enforcer now."

Oh, this just kept getting better and better. My former master had a particularly nasty reputation, even for a Crow. His promotion must have happened after I left. Not that I was very surprised by it. He had a vicious streak that well-suited him to the posting.

"If I may ask, how did you manage to hide the little matter of an elven sire for so long? It's not uncommon for nobles to take elven lovers, after all."

"He was my father, not some animal put out to stud," he said sharply. "As for hiding it, my mother was a very clever woman. And she cultivated a reputation for being…generous with her charms. Whether she ever really was …" He shrugged. "I'm inclined to believe not, but the deception worked in my favor. And since my father functioned as her steward, no one questioned the time they spent together."

The child of an elf and a human always favors the human parent and can be taken for fully human. His mother could have lied to him -as she had apparently lied to everyone else – but she hadn't. A most unusual woman. It explained, at least in part, why he seemed so different from the typical Crow master.

"As for the rest of my history, I would prefer it if this Warden was present, so I don't have to repeat myself. Is he literate?"

"Oh, are you planning on leaving him a ransom note? I'm afraid they don't have much gold. All that running around and gathering an army to stop the darkspawn. Quite expensive, you understand." I grimaced. Maker, some old habits were _really_ hard to shake.

He smiled. "I see why you drove Jepheth to distraction when you were his apprentice. If I didn't despise the man so much, I'd almost feel sorry for him."

I shifted in my bonds, testing them. "If you wish to set up a meeting with the Warden, might I suggest a more congenial place? He's very clever, and this place reeks of a trap…even if one is not intended."

He glanced around. "I agree. There's a rather dodgy alehouse about two blocks east of here even the Crows avoid."

"The Drunken Dog?" He nodded. "I'm familiar with the place," I said.

"I thought you might be. Now, I would prefer not to have to carry you there when I return."

"I understand. I can be discrete."

"Where in the inn are your rooms?"

I told him, and though he surely noticed that my Warden and I shared the same room, he gave no sign.

I supposed it had been too much too hope that he would have released me when he went to deliver his message. It's not like I would have left. I was very curious as to how this little event was going to play out. My Warden seemed willing to take on whatever help he could find. But a House Master on the run from the Guild? I, at least, had the flimsy protection of being assumed dead at the moment. But Master Stefan would be a prime target for any and every Crow looking to make a name, or add to the one they already had. Would even my Warden be willing to take on that risk?

I leaned back and settled to waiting for Master Stefan to return. Either way, it was going to be an interesting morning.


	53. Chapter 53

_Apologies for the delay in posting. (real life and all that) To those who've added this and me to favorites/alerts, many thanks. And to those who review. Your support is much appreciated. As always, feedback/comments/random thoughts are always welcome. Enjoy!_

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**Darrian Tabris**

I stopped off in the common room when I returned to the Dinghy to see if Zevran had woken up yet. Leli waved to me from a corner table where she sat with Morrigan, Tam drowsing at her feet.

"No, he left an hour ago, saying something about, 'going fishing," Leli said. She smiled and patted Tam's head. "He also gave your mabari a bath."

"And you didn't object?" I said to Tam. He shook his head and the bard laughed. And I would have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on Morrigan's face. I reached down and scratched him behind an ear.

"Well, I'll have to remember that," I murmured, and he butted my hand. I glanced around. "Have you seen the others yet?"

"Sten said something about looking for a blacksmith, and Wynne just left for the market. You didn't see her?" Leli said.

I shook my head. "There's half a dozen ways to get there from here. I'm not surprised we didn't run into one another. Do you know if Alistair's left to find his sister?"

Morrigan made a sound like a snort but said nothing.

"He's still sleeping," Leli said with a smile.

"If Zevran comes by this way, tell him I need to see him. I'll be in our room," I said before heading down the narrow hall that led to the back of the inn. Tam whuffed then settled down near Morrigan. She glanced at him, and I would have sworn I saw her smiling, but it disappeared too quickly for me to be certain.

I wondered if Zevran had found out anything beyond the rumors I'd heard circulating through the marketplace about how unhappy the banns were with Loghain. I shifted the pack strap higher on my shoulder as I made my way back to our room. In the market, I'd even heard a whisper or two of some of the banns renouncing their allegiance to the throne. Creators, we didn't need a civil war on top of an impending blight. If we started fighting each other, the darkspawn would rip through the country like a plague. And in the middle of it all were my kin, trapped in the alienage.

_Maybe I should retrieve my armor and weapons,_ I thought. They were locked up with Zevran's in a chest in Alistair's room. Keep them close to hand in case things started to turn ugly in Denerim.

I pulled out my key, but the door swung open when I reached for the knob. Training and instinct sent my wrist twisting, and a dagger slid into my left hand. But the room was empty. Except for a neatly folded sheet of creamy paper propped against a pillow, nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

I glanced down the long hallway. With no one in sight, I crouched down and looked under the bed from outside the door. Our travel packs were exactly where we had stowed them. After slipping inside the room, I closed the door and leaned back, staring at my name penned in a neat, elegant hand I didn't recognize. Zevran couldn't read or write Fereldan, and except for a few curses I'd learned from working on the docks, I didn't speak Antivan. No one in our group had ever left me a note. Why would they start now?

My gut went cold. The Crows. It had to be.

How had they found him so quickly? Was he even still alive? My heart clenched at that thought. Ah, Creators, if anything had happened to him…

I folded my arms. This was probably a trap. But I couldn't leave him in it. _'What if you have to choose between your heart and your duty?'_ Wynne's words rattled in the empty space of possibilities. I let them for a moment, then shoved them aside. I'd made my choice. And would make the same one again, if confronted.

My hands tightened on my arms. I...cared for him. More than was probably wise. But then, my mother had been fond of saying that the heart also had its wisdom. I set my pouch on the floor, then crossed the short space to the bed.

"Andruil, let my arrows fly true. Let my feet find the right path," I whispered, then unfolded my arms and picked up the letter.

_ To the Grey Warden, Darrian Tabris, Greetings and Felicitations,_

_ Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stefan Sarmiento, soon-to-be former Master of the lone Crow house here in Denerim._

_ Be assured, Zevran Arainai is unharmed and currently in my sole custody. _

_ I have a proposition I would like to discuss with you. I've rented a private room at the Drunken Dog at the edge of the warehouse district. _

_ I will wait there till sundown. If you decline my invitation, Zevran will be released, unharmed, back into your keeping. If you accept, bring whatever weapons you wish, but I request that you come alone. Ask for me by my first name at the bar._

_ Whatever you decide concerning my offer, you and Zevran are free to leave. I will neither follow you nor tell any other Crow of our meeting or where you might be headed. I cannot, unfortunately, cancel the contract on you and your fellow Warden. Nor prevent any from seeking you out if they learn of your presence. _

I sank down onto the bed and stared at the letter. He had signed only his first name at the end, and added the outline of a feather beneath it. I read it again, and then a third time. It could merely be a clever lure into a trap. Yet, he spoke of himself as 'soon-to-be former master.' And Zevran was 'in his sole custody.' Meaning what? That only he knew of Zevran's presence in Denerim?

My fingers tightened on the heavy paper. If this 'invitation' wasn't to discuss the contract Loghain had taken out with the Crows, then what did he want to talk about? There was only one way to find out.

I folded the letter up and tucked it into my pocket. It occurred to me I should find Alistair and, at the least, discuss this with him. If I did, though, he would insist on going with me. And as Wynne had rightly observed, 'skulking about' wasn't his strong point. He wouldn't exactly blend into the background at a place like the Drunken Dog, either, even if he was 'scruffy looking.' I knew the place from when I'd worked on the docks. Not the kind of tavern a chantry-bred man would visit, but the owner didn't care if an elf wanted to buy a drink or a companion for an hour's pleasure. As long as you had coin, you were welcome.

As I checked my throwing daggers and then tucked my purse inside my shirt, I went over the few things Zevran had told me. He'd said that the master who ruled the house in Denerim was 'unusual.' It seemed I would have the opportunity to find out just what he meant.

* * *

I'd never told my family I'd visited the Dog fairly often, not even Soris. Mostly because I'd never told them about Dylen, my second lover. A skilled thief and pick-pocket wasn't the kind of man my family would have approved of me associating with, let alone bedding. The Dog rented rooms by the hour, and didn't care what kind of business took place, as long as you didn't leave any blood behind.

Dylen shifted in the back of my mind as I pushed open the rough oak door to the Dog. He'd been clever and kind. A man who wanted to live on his own terms, not pass his life feeling grateful for any scraps the _shem _might think to toss his way. His leaving had been hard on both of us. But better a bruised heart than a dead lover. I pulled my focus back to the present. Letting down your guard in the Dog could be fatal.

A few cut-purses lounged at the small scarred tables, drinking up last-nights profits and probably thinking of their next marks. My hand rested on my belt near my dagger. I didn't meet anyone's gaze directly. I wasn't there for a challenge. Eyes tracked me as I strode over to the bar.

The human behind it nodded at me, one hand resting on the scarred black surface, his other on the end of a cudgel hanging from his belt. I didn't recognize him. But then, it had been almost two years since I'd last been there.

"I'm looking for a man named Stefan."

He motioned to the narrow stairs off to his left. "Second door from the right."

I felt eyes on me as I strode up the steps. When I turned the corner at the top and was out of sight of those below, I paused and loosed a breath. With so few patrons, I hadn't expected any kind of challenge, but you could never tell with the Dog.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I pushed open the door. Relief flooded through me when I saw Zevran leaning back in a chair, an ale mug in his hands, wearing that damnable half-smile that showed nothing.

"Warden Darrian Tabris, I presume?" said a dark-haired human, rising from his seat on Zevran's left. He smiled and motioned to the chair opposite his. "Please, join us. I've taken the liberty of ordering a light lunch." He glanced at Zevran and smiled. "I've been told the fried fish is safe enough."

Zevran smirked and pulled out the chair next to his. I closed the door behind me and took a moment to study Master Stefan. He wasn't tall for a human, but sleek and strong looking under the close-fitting black leather pants and black linen shirt. His voice had the same lilt Zevran's had, though his accent was not as pronounced.

"Master Stefan Sarmiento."

He nodded and motioned again to the chair. "Please. You're my guests. You and Zevran."

"Antivan etiquette, my Warden, requires certain…rituals to be gotten out of the way before business can be conducted."

"Rituals?"

"Oh, eating, drinking." Zevran glanced at Stefan. "Dying."

Instinct sent a dagger sliding into my right hand. I even had it poised for throwing before I stopped myself.

"Ah, sorry about that. Crow humor, you understand," Zevran said to me.

"Impressive," Stefan said. I noticed he held a similar dagger in his left hand, though his pointed down.

"I didn't do it to impress you." I slid my dagger back into its wrist sheath. He did likewise with his.

"You're not a man who's easily impressed, are you?"

"What do you want?"

He motioned to the chair again. "Please."

I frowned then slid into the seat across the table from him. He filled an empty mug and set it in front of me. My hand closed around it, but I didn't drink. Zevran glanced at me, then took a long slow sip of his.

"You know, for such a dismal looking place, the ale is quite decent," he commented.

The door opened, and the smell of fried fish and corn biscuits preceded the harried looking barmaid who slapped a tray down on the table, then set another jug of ale beside it.

"That be five silver," she said, holding out her hand to Stefan. He dropped six into her palm. She nodded curtly then scurried away, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Well, this place is never going to win any awards for friendly service," Zevran said. To my surprise, Stefan chuckled as he reached for one of the plates of fish and corn biscuits and held it out to me. He gave the next plate to Zevran, then pulled the last one in front of himself before leaning the tray against the wall near his chair.

I wasn't hungry, and I wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries. But I was deeply curious

Stefan gazed down at his fish, then up at me. His eyes were a deep, vibrant blue. "I wish to join the Wardens, if you'll have me."

I stared at him. Of everything he could have said, I hadn't expected that. Neither had Zevran it seemed, judging by the narrow-eyed look he gave his former master. Blessed Creators, if I agreed to this, I could just see Alistair's face and hear his voice. _We're taking another one with us? You really have lost your mind this time, haven't you?_

I started laughing, resting my forehead against my hands. Fortunately, it didn't last long.

I glanced at Zevran, then back at Stefan. Blessed Creators, what was I going to do with a Crow Master?


End file.
